Specter Detectors 4: Rat Race
by Nylah
Summary: Business is picking up in Danny, Tucker and Sam's ghost hunting agency. Working two cases at the same time is hard, and on top of that, Jazz decides to visit. Now, Danny has to juggle two assignments and keep his secret from his future brother-in-law...
1. Prologue

A/N: Alright, here is is. At the moment, this story is about 31,000 words worth of sloppy scenes. Each scene switches to somebody's POV, including a number of OC's. One POV is notably absent. This is an experiment or, more accurately, an exercise in using third person limited POV.

Status now is: editing and rewriting, but the whole of it is almost finished (which should more or less guarantee the absence of plot holes). Updates should be regular, if I don't, feel free to poke me.

Ah yes. Sequel to 'Specter Detectors parts 1-3.

Story Warning: rated for language, mostly. Please keep in mind they're all around 24 and act and talk accordingly.

Full Summary:

_Business is picking up in Danny, Tucker and Sam's ghost hunting agency. Their current job - clearing out a ghost-rat infested warehouse - is taking a lot out of them, and a series of jewelry store robberies seems ghost related too. On top of that, Jazz decides to visit, bringing her fiancee Gary along. Now, Danny has to juggle two assignments while keeping his secret from his future brother-in-law..._

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.

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**SPECTER DETECTORS LTD**

**Episode 4: Rat Race**

**Prologue  
**

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Jay Fletcher was running. He hadn't yet reached that pleasant haze, that fluid, easy feeling yet, sometimes called runner's high, so he was panting and struggling to keep up his speed. At six in the morning, getting high was very hard to do. The cold air was painful in his lungs, and his hands, though gloved, were still freezing. His footsteps on the quiet sidewalk somehow sounded distant, as if he wasn't really there, and the orange glow of the streetlights only served to increase the feeling of utter loneliness.

At the fence he stopped and he leaned against it to stretch his legs. He came by here every morning, and had seen the the gradual transformation of the area, from rundown neighborhood with lots of boarded up houses and closed shops to an area that was mostly bare, only the rubble of the torn down buildings remaining. The only thing still standing was the old apartment building. His building. Blackened, partially caved it, a hazardous place. Eight years it had been standing there, empty, burnt out. And now they were going to tear it down. This was his last chance.

He looked up at the huge sign with the picture of what they were going to do with the area. A new, completely white complex, some government agency. Lots of buildings, a large fence, a guarded gate. The people that lived in the neighborhood had moved, or had been moved, the squatters chased away, the tramps and the drug dealers herded out of there. All in the name of progress. He didn't disagree entirely, but he needed to get some closure. Now was the time.

Quickly, instead of continuing his run as he usually did, he slipped through an opening in the fence he had discovered several days ago. If it wasn't for that accidental discovery, he didn't think he would have gone through with it, but he had, and it seemed like too good a chance to pass up on. Still, once inside, he had second thoughts. He wasn't supposed to be in here, it was dangerous, and he'd be in so much trouble when they caught him...

Nervously, he glanced around. He was trespassing now, doing something illegal, and after the episode at school, where they had caught him carrying a knife, he really wanted to stay out of trouble. But then he pulled himself together. It was ten past six in the morning. The workers didn't start until seven. Everybody was asleep.

Carefully, he picked his way through the rubble, avoiding the metal wiring sticking out of the concrete, the splintered planks, the mud. It was a particularly cold morning, and he could see his breath fog when it left his mouth. He wasn't cold, though, and he knew he wouldn't be for a while, as long as he kept moving.

The entrance was open, the door was gone, and he entered what used to be the main entrance to the apartment building. Blackened concrete greeted him, an opening where the elevator used to be and the stairs next to it, thankfully also made of concrete, or they would have been burnt away also. Memories struck him as he stood there, memories of playing with friends, of running up the stairs because the elevator never worked, of shouts and laughs and...

He blinked. The images faded away, leaving him with... nothing. Echoes, in his mind. Slowly, he stepped through the hallway, ignoring the fact that his shoes picked up the black soot from the floor. He climbed the stairs, all the way to the fourth floor without so much as having to catch his breath. Once there, he automatically turned right and there it was.

The door was gone. There was rubble in the tiny living room and kitchen. Some remains of furniture, also black. He remembered the couch against the wall, but it was unrecognizable now. He took a deep breath, suddenly afraid. He didn't want to go in there. This was the place where his parents had died. This was the place where he had lived before that fateful day when he was out playing with his friends. This was where the explosion had taken place, starting the fire, killing not only his parents but also four other people in neighboring apartments. An accident, they had said. Gas and an unsafe stove.

He really should get out of there.

Instead, he tentatively stepped forward, entering the apartment. Now he really had a good view on the devastation. The front wall was completely gone. The place where his room had been was a black hole. He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he had been in there. He would probably have been evaporated.

His feet scraped against the floor and he winced at the sound of it. Suddenly, the place seemed ominous. He should leave. There was nothing here, all these years of worrying had been for nothing. He shouldn't have come.

Something cold brushed his neck and he shivered. His breath caught in his throat. There was a presence there... Frantically, he looked around. Again something touched him, and it felt eerily familiar. Move, he thought, move out of here. He couldn't. His feet seemed glued to the floor as the cold encircled him, wrapped itself around him, _entered_ him...


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Chapters will vary in length. This thing started out as a one shot and was written as such, meaning it's one continuous stream, and not nicely cut into chapters. I'm in the process of doing that, please bear with me.

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**

**Chapter 1**

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Gary Sullivan pulled up his rental car along side the curb in the rundown neighborhood and checked the address again. Number fifteen. He squinted at the sign next to the door, of which the letters were just a little to small to read from this distance. The garage door next to it was open, and he could see an old, rusty car standing inside with the hood open. Somebody was leaning over the engine, and he could only just make out the man's stained blue coveralls. Then he looked up at the windows above the garage. Dark. No life. He turned to his fiancee.

"Are you sure, Jazz?" he asked, "_This_ is where he lives?"

Jazz was frowning, but she nodded. "Specter Detectors," she said, pointing at the sign next to the door.

Her eyesight, Gary mused, was better than his. They got out and Gary made sure to lock the door, checking it twice. Then he looked suspiciously up and down the street, at the group of teens hanging thirty yards away – shouldn't they be in school, he wondered – the boarded up house at the other side of the street and the small liquor store next to it, still closed at this time of day, but that particular fact didn't prevent some stragglers from hanging around at the entrance, waiting for it to open.

Gary hurried to his girlfriend and protectively stood next to her while she raised her hand to ring the bell. She stopped, and instead brought her hand to her mouth, staring at the doorknob. Gary moved closer to take a look at what she saw, and saw the reason for her concern: blood. Jazz didn't waste time, but started rummaging through her purse, muttering angrily to herself. With an 'aha', she pulled out her key ring and shifted through the numerous keys. Her apartment, her office, her parents' house Gary all recognized, but there was a new one on there he hadn't seen before. She stuck it into the lock and opened the door.

Gary followed her into the narrow hallway and up the stairs. He heard voices and laughter coming from the first floor, but he couldn't make out what the person talking was saying. He did recognize the voice though. Danny, Jazz's brother. Jazz looked back and smiled at him, and he could see the relief on her face. He didn't know what she had been expecting, but obviously she had automatically assumed something had happened to her little brother. He shuddered when he thought about the bloodstain. Maybe some gang war had been fought right in front of Danny's door, maybe somebody had gotten hurt and grabbed the door knob...

All thought about gang wars vanished when he entered what seemed to be a small office. Jazz had entered ahead of him, but he could easily see over her shoulder. Since she had stopped right inside the room, he was forced to stay in the door frame.

Two people were there, now looking up in surprise. A tall, black man was sitting behind a new looking laptop, his hands still on the keyboard. A web page was on the screen, but Gary couldn't make out the contents. The man looked tired, bags under his eyes, and his clothes were torn and dirty.

The other person in the room, half leaning over his friend to be able to read the screen, was Danny. Gary had met him at Jazz's parents at Christmas. The two of them had started off at some wary acceptance, Danny questioning everything Gary did but generally being pleasant and friendly. Gary suspected the guy wasn't normally that friendly with Jazz's affiliations, and that the other guest at the Fentons' Christmas celebration, Sam Manson, had something to do with him being more or less civil. Several times, he had seen her giving him a dressing down when he had made a nasty remark, and he had just stood there with his head hanging. He smiled in the memory of that.

Danny straightened. "Hi Jazz," he said casually, as if he wasn't surprised to see her show up at his place at ten in the morning, thousands of miles away from where she usually was. He laughed a little, and Gary thought it sounded silly. Then he started rubbing the back of his head.

Jazz stiffened, and Gary winced. He could feel her anger, and was glad it was directed at her brother instead of him. He wondered why she was angry with him though.

"Have you been drinking?" She asked, her voice cold.

She pointed at something Gary couldn't see, and he gave her a little push so he could enter the room. She stepped aside. The overflowing trashcan contained a sizable amount of empty beer cans. Danny followed her gaze and laughed again.

"No, Jazz," he said, smirking, "I'm high on something else."

He looked beyond tired. He was unshaven, his gray t-shirt was stained and torn, and his arms were full of scratches, cuts and bruises. He shifted a little and Gary saw that he had left bloody marks on the back of the chair the dark-skinned man was sitting on.

"What?" she said, incredulous.

Gary could practically see her mind racing, shifting through different types of drug abuse. Danny laughed again and leaned back against the shelves with books, crossing his battered arms.

"Relax, Jazz," he said, "It's nothing like that. I haven't slept in two days. Makes me lightheaded, that's all."

"Yeah, Jazz," the other man said, "You know he won't touch the stuff. I have a beer in here every now and then. We just haven't emptied the trashcan since... since forever, I think."

He looked at Gary, a questioning look in his face. "Who's this?"

Jazz half turned, but didn't take her eyes off her brother. "Tucker, Gary," she said, waving her hand.

Tucker got up and Gary shook his hand.

"Ah," he said, "So you're 'Jazz's newest who should stay away from her because she's too good for him'."

He used both his hands to quote that last part. Danny cringed and had the decency to turn red. Jazz glared at him.

"You," she said, pointing at Danny, "Out. Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

Danny blinked, mock saluted her and gestured at the door. Jazz followed him out, leaving Gary to stare at Tucker. Tucker stared right back. Gary glanced around the room. There were two more laptops there, a new looking printer, several gadgets on a table near the window of which Gary couldn't make out what they were for and two strange looking rifles, thrown haphazardly into a corner. Tucker followed his gaze.

"Ecto rifles," he said, "The newest. Bought them last month. They're really effective, they can lock onto a ghost's ecto signature. The GIW uses them too but I enhanced these so they don't fire on... I mean, I enhanced them."

Gary sat down on the swivel chair at the table. He looked at the screen on Tucker's laptop again, but the screen saver was now swirling all sorts of green ghosts across the screen.

"So," he said, "You really do hunt ghosts."

Tucker nodded enthusiastically. "Yup. Doing really well too. We catch about five ghosts a week, and that's more than the GIW manage to do in a month. Nowadays, they prefer to call us instead of them because we act more discretely. Government agencies are still required to use the GIW though." He yawned. "This latest though... there's a ghost rat infestation in a warehouse at the docks. We can't seem to catch them all. Last night, I almost got overrun with them, and Danny saved me."

He leaned on the desk and looked at his torn clothes. "I got off lightly," he said.

Gary remembered Danny's arms and shuddered. Somewhere in the house a tap was turned on, he could hear the water swooshing through the pipes. Then the familiar clatter of a shower, and Jazz reentered the room, her face impassive. He smiled reassuringly at her, and her face softened. Tucker seemed to think their looking at each other got uncomfortable, because he cleared his throat.

"So," he said to Gary, "What do _you_ do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor... well, I will be when I finish my internships." He glanced at Jazz. "I'm not nearly as brilliant as my... I mean, as Jazz, of course, but I'm doing alright."

The sound of the shower stopped and Jazz took off again. After a moment, Gary followed her, curious as to how his future brother in law lived. As he approached the door, he clearly heard Jazz's voice coming through the not completely closed door.

"... stop playing the hero, Danny, you don't know what these rats are infected with."

"I couldn't let them get Tucker, now could I. Come on, Jazz, I've had worse, this is nothing. It'll be gone in a couple of hours. Why are you so angry?"

"I don't know. This whole thing... I want to tell Gary, Danny. I don't want to keep secrets from him."

Gary, who had just been about to knock on the door, paused. Secrets? He struggled with himself for a moment. He shouldn't listen in on their conversation, but he had to admit it sounded intriguing.

"No way."

"Danny..."

"No."

Gary knocked. The door swung open when he touched it, showing brother and sister sitting on the bed in the tiny room. Jazz was busy wrapping bandages around Danny's arms, while he was looking at her with an annoyed expression on his face. Gary stared at him. His hair was still dripping, his chin still unshaven, and he looked clean. His chest was lined with scars. They both turned to look at Gary.

"Um," he said, "I'm interrupting..."

Danny impatiently drew his arms away from Jazz and stood up. He gave Gary a cold look and disappeared through the door into the tiny bathroom, returning moments later wearing a crumpled but otherwise clean blue t-shirt. He stood in the doorway, crossed his arms and looked at Gary.

"You were eavesdropping," he said.

"No I wasn't. You were talking so loud I could probably have heard you all the way downstairs."

Jazz now got up too and placed herself between her brother and her husband-to-be.

"Danny," she said, "If you would quit your hostile attitude for a moment you could let me explain why we chose to travel thousands of miles to visit you in person rather than tell you on the phone. This is Gary. This isn't Johnny 13. We're all adults here now, or at least, Gary and I are. You, I'm not so sure."

Danny scowled at that, but didn't contradict her.

"I wanted to do this in a more pleasant way, but I can see you're tired. You need to get some rest, so we'll leave and get to our hotel, and then maybe look around town for a bit. You're invited to dinner with us. We're staying at the Park View hotel."

Danny raised his eyebrows at that. "The Park View?" he asked, "Isn't that a bit expensive? You could just stay in Sam's apartment, you know, I have the key and she isn't here. She has a very nice guest bedroom."

"You'd know," Jazz smirked at him, "Thank you for offering Sam's hospitality, but no. We're perfectly alright in the Park View, and we're not short on cash."

"Ouch," Danny said.

"And neither are you, so drop the act," she continued, "I saw all those new computers, and those ecto rifles are very expensive." She took a step and stood next to Gary. Then she turned around at her brother, still standing in the bathroom door. "Dinner, Danny. Seven o'clock."

She didn't wait for his response, but grabbed Gary's arm and pulled him down the stairs. He felt Danny's gaze on them all the way down, and didn't relax until they were well away from the run down neighborhood. Something was bothering him.

"What's with all those scars?" he asked Jazz, half turning in his seat to look at her distressed face.

She waved her hand. "Ghost hunting is dangerous," was all she said.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: You may notice these chapters aren't as long as in my other stories. This is because I'm trying to split the story into logical parts. Some chapters may be longer, others shorter. Can't tell yet how many chapters there are going to be.

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**Chapter 2**

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Detective Nicolas Sawyer sat down heavily behind his desk and stared evilly at his computer, as if by doing so he could make the thing do what he wanted. Carefully, he placed his coffee – black, no sugar – well away from the keyboard. He did not need a repeat of his latest mishap with the cursed machine, or the snickers from his colleagues who were pretty relentless in their comments on his computer ineptness. Sawyer was an oldfashioned man, and he liked to do things like he always had. Paper archives. Notes, written down. Case files that could be spread out on a desk in front of him to stare at. Not some digital archive which spit out nonsense when you accidentally mistyped a query. Garbage in, garbage out.

Despite all that, he grabbed the mouse and clicked the icon for the word processor. It started up and presented him with an empty report template. He sighed and glanced around. About half of the desks were occupied, most had gone out to lunch. He had just come in, having worked a late shift the night before. Jake Tannenbaum, his partner, walked up to him.

"Hey Sawyer," he said, dropping down on the chair that was in front of his desk. Nobody ever called him Nicolas, or even Nick. It was always 'Sawyer', or better yet, by the younger agents, just plain 'sir'.

Sawyer nodded at him. "Jake," he said.

He positioned his fingers above the keyboard, glanced at his notebook and began to type, using only his index fingers.

"How did it go last night?" Jake asked.

The man was twenty years his junior, about as tall as Sawyer was but twenty pounds heavier, all muscle. Sawyer liked having him around. Whenever there was manhandling needed, Jake provided the necessary muscle. Sawyer rarely had to use anything but his voice to control a situation. In fact, the business with the Rosemary Diamond about a month ago had been the first time in over two years he had had to draw his gun. And it wouldn't have been necessary if the workload hadn't been so high they had been split up to work separate cases.

"Can't tell," he said, pausing his typing, "It was dark. They went in there, we heard some noise and after a little while they got out again, carrying those weird thermoses they use for containment devices. We were only there to keep people at a distance, but there really wasn't anybody there other than the owner of the warehouses."

Jake shuddered and ran a hand through his blond hair. "Don't envy you," he said, "I don't like ghosts, and those ghost hunters give me the creeps, especially that Fenton guy."

Sawyer raised his eyebrows and thought about that. "Why?" he asked.

Jake shrugged. "Dunno. He just does. It's the way he looks at you. Remember that one time he caught that ghost in the mall, the one in that metallic suit? I was really close by, hiding behind a pillar. They were staring each other down, him and that ghost, and I could've sworn his eyes turned green. Then he just reached _inside_ that thing and pulled out some disgusting green glob. Gave me the creeps."

Sawyer shrugged and looked back at his screen, trying to find suitable words for describing the scene of the two ghost hunters leaving the warehouse. They had looked utterly exhausted. Foley had been supporting Fenton, and Sawyer had caught a glimpse of the man's bloody arms before the tall black man had shoved him into his car, muttering something like better not bleeding all over his upholstery as the car was new.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said to his partner, "The man gets the job done. Better than the GIW."

"Yeah, well," Jake said, leaning forward to steal a mint from Sawyer's desk, "I still don't trust him."

Sawyer looked up at the clock on the wall which read eleven thirty, way past the time either of them should be at the station, and then looked back at Jake with a meaningful look on his face. Jake followed his gaze, smiled ruefully and got up.

"I know," he said, "It's late, and we're on again tonight. You get some rest too, OK?"

Sawyer watched him go and went back to his struggle with the keyboard and the difficulty of describing a ghost hunt. What to put in there, and what to leave out? He knew the GIW followed Fenton's little agency closely, always asking for police reports on the more public hunts. Ever since he had seen him burst out of that strange portal, he had been intrigued by the man. Something about him both made his hair stand up and made him being drawn to him.

He sighed and decided to leave out the fact that the blood on Fenton's arms had been tinged with green.

* * *

Agent K frowned at his ghost detector. The needle had spiked a few minutes ago, briefly, when he had entered the apartment, but now it was dead again. Slowly, he backed through the door into the hallway, but nothing happened. Then he reentered and tore his eyes away from the device to really look at his surroundings.

It did look like a place a ghost might reside in, but then again, most places did if you looked at it the right way. The dreary light of the cloudy afternoon sky did nothing to soften gloom hanging in the building. The apartment was filled with rubble, blackened by the intense heat of the fire. A lump stood against the wall on the other side, probably the remains of a couch of sorts. The kitchen was of course completely gone, as the gas explosion had originated there. Two people had died there, a man and a woman, so it was entirely possible that the ghost of one of them still haunted the building. In fact, there had been reports from the workers who were supposed to tear down the building about strange sightings and an unusual chill. A sure sign something was up.

There was nothing there now.

Refusing to believe this was yet again a false alarm, and more than a little annoyed at the fact that his fellow agents – J and L – were blundering around the building, making so much noise that he was surprised the run down building hadn't collapsed already, he searched the black, filthy room inch by inch. Two bedrooms, one of which was almost completely gone too, the walls collapsed from the blast. The master bedroom was partially intact, and K could clearly distinguish the metal bed frame. The other room, a child's room probably, just held some mangled metal in the corner. Everything else was just gone.

He shivered.

With a sigh, he lowered his ghost detector. There really was nothing there. The workers were just stalling. He turned around, dangling the small white ghost detection device in his hand and left the apartment, never looking down at the thing again. And that was why he missed the sudden spike of the needle, a sure sign that at least some ghostly activity had taken place by the door.

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Jazz looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head to inspect the way she had pulled her hair back out of her face. The red strands were pushed securely behind her ears, a few pins to keep them from straying. It wasn't as long as it had once been, and although she sometimes thought back rather wistfully at the simpler times of her youth – not that she had found her life simple back then, but that was probably a matter of perspective – it really was more practical this way.

She started when the door of her hotel room closed with a familiar click, and she turned around to greet Gary with a smile. Tall and handsome, she thought to herself, shy and bold at the same time, curly blond hair, ice blue eyes that always seemed to be laughing, even when he was quite serious. She really was lucky to have found him.

She stepped closer to him and melted into his embrace for a moment, before pushing him away. Gary tilted his head and frowned at her.

"You're not ready yet?" he asked, "It's almost seven..."

Jazz shrugged. "Danny's never in time," she said, "So there's no rush."

Gary looked uncomfortable now. "Look," he said, "I still don't get what's up with your brother, but surely..."

"Danny just needs to get his act together," Jazz said decisively, "And realize that he doesn't need to protect me any longer. We're all adults here." She eyes Gary critically and stepped closer to adjust his tie. "Don't worry so much. Danny listens to reason. Eventually."

She turned away from him to get her shoes, and therefore didn't see him loosen his tie again. He watched her rummage through her suitcase, then try to straighten it by pushing everything back in, get frustrated because of course that wouldn't work and finally put on her shoes. Getting up, she noticed him staring.

"Um," he said, "Can we go now?"

She smiled, knowing he hated being late for anything, and moved close to him so she could hook her arm in his. Together, they squeezed through the door and she giggled at the pointlessness of his insistence to hold on to her all the time, even at impractical times like trying to leave a room. They rode the elevator in silence and finally made their way to the hotel's restaurant on the first floor, overlooking the park, at seven fifteen. They were guided to their table, which was still empty. Danny hadn't arrived yet. Which she knew he wouldn't.

Gary gallantly held her chair for her and she sat down, still smiling. It was imperative that the evening go well. Starting off in a good mood would help. Gary, catching on, smiled back at her and they spent a few minutes just gazing into each other's eyes. Gary grabbed her hand and started playing with her fingers, and she was just thinking about how perfect it all was when they were interrupted.

"Hello. Earth to Jazz? Can you come down from planet Gary for a moment?"

Gary let go of her hand and she looked up at her brother, standing next to their table, looking down on them in a rather intimidating way. She frowned at him, knowing full well what he was doing. She knew Gary would never admit it, but Danny managed to scare him a little, even though he had four inches and twenty pounds on him. The cold competence her brother managed to radiate, combined with the ghostly chill he gave people even in human form – she knew he could suppress it, but didn't always want to – would set anybody on edge. Anybody but her, Sam and Tucker, who knew him for what he was: a man with some unusual abilities and a hero complex.

"Sit, Danny," she ordered him.

He mock saluted her and sat down on the one remaining chair. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked at them. Jazz noticed he had made some effort at dressing up, which meant she had actually got through to him that morning. He was wearing a long sleeved button up gray shirt and black dress pants. It was a little unfortunate that he had chosen to wear combat boots underneath them, but since his feet were under the table, she was willing to overlook that. The dark circles under his eyes, however, not.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked him, trying to not sound too prim.

He shrugged. "Nah. Work."

He didn't elaborate, but kept staring at her in an odd way, completely ignoring Gary.

"What's up with you?" he asked.

She shook her head. Later. Now, she had to get him to loosen up, to actually have a civil conversation with Gary, before she dropped the bomb on him. Suddenly, she felt a little anxious. She had been so sure she could convince him to accept Gary, to see him for what he was, basically a big teddy bear, but the cold blue eyes that scrutinized her now made her feel less secure. Still, she had always been able to control her brother.

"Catch a ghost?" she asked him instead.

He seemed to look straight through her for a moment, but then suddenly leaned back and relaxed.

"Two," he said, "Got paid for one of them. The other was Skulker, hunting some poor ghost rabbit in the forest." He frowned. "Which means I caught three, because Skulker first caught the rabbit and then I caught him. How's that for efficiency?"

Gary shifted in his seat and looked uneasy. Jazz glared at Danny, trying for a non-verbal knock-it-off message she knew he was perfectly capable of getting. He looked at her innocently. She decided to try a different approach.

"I showed Gary Fenton Works, where it used to be," she said, "And we went to the Ghost museum up on Almond Street. Have you ever been there?"

Danny laughed and nodded. "Sure. Even donated one of my thermoses to them. Told them Phantom gave it to me."

"They believed that?" Gary said, looking skeptical. The ghost museum had had a disproportionate amount of space dedicated to the town's most famous and infamous ghost hero.

Danny shrugged. "Sure. Besides, it's totally true."

They chatted for a while in a relatively companionable way, until they were interrupted by the waiter to take their orders. To Jazz's amusement, she noticed Danny ordered the vegetarian menu.

"Where's Sam?" she asked when the waiter was gone.

Danny's smile faltered a little, before coming back full strength. "Visiting her parents in LA. She should be back tomorrow evening."

Jazz nodded. "Good. Then we'll get to see her too while we're here."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "How long are you staying for then?" he asked, shooting a glance at Gary.

"Three days," Jazz said, "Because I want you two," she pointed at Gary and Danny, "To get to know each other a little. And I'd like to go shopping with Sam again."

Danny scowled at her and was just about to say something when the waiter came to bring their food. The three of them waited in silence until the man was done, and then all of them quietly started to eat.

"So," Danny said after a while, "Shopping with Sam. If it's anything like the last time, I don't want to be within a ten mile radius of you guys."

"You don't have to be," Jazz said, smiling friendlily, "Because you will go and show Gary around, maybe go bowling or something, see a movie, go to a bar..."

"I'm busy," Danny said, shoving a piece of vegetarian quiche into his mouth, "I've got a business to run."

"So take him along," Jazz said in what she hoped was a most reasonable tone of voice, "Show him what you're doing."

Both Danny and Gary choked on their food.

"No way!"

"What, ghost hunting? I don't think..."

Jazz held up her hands and they were both silent. They stared at her, then at each other in a way that had Jazz suddenly hope that they could at least connect on some common ground – namely, their being intimidated by her – and then back at her again.

"Danny," she said, putting down her fork, "I really, _really_ would like for you to try and get along with Gary. Please? For me?"

Danny put down his fork too and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, he looked really tired.

"OK, Jazz," he said, "If it's that important to you..."

"It is," she said firmly, and then, taking a deep breath, "Because we're getting married."

Danny abruptly stopped rubbing his eyes and stared at her. Then he turned to Gary, and to Jazz's dismay his eyes started to get a definite green hue to them.

"You _what_?!" he said.

"Come on, Danny," Jazz said, placing her hand on his arm and noting that he felt chilly, "You must have seen this coming. In fact, mom tried to prepare you for this at Christmas, remember?"

He tensed. "So that was what all the talk about how she would love to be a grandmother some day was about. I thought..."

"What did you think, Danny?" Jazz asked.

"Nothing. Look." He placed his napkin on the table and stood up. "I...." He hesitated, looked out of the window for a moment, and then back at Jazz and Gary again. "I'm sorry. I'm not OK with this. You know that. I'm..." He glared at Gary. "Don't... just... don't."

He turned around and walked away.

"Well," Jazz said, putting down her fork, "That didn't go too badly. Considering."

Gary looked down at this plate, and then at his fiancee again. "You think?" he asked, "Because I'd hate to see his reaction when we tell him the other thing..."


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: I swear I had never seen 'Chuck' before writing this series, but I guess 'CompuStore' is something like the 'Buy More', LOL.

Time for some action!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Tucker only half listened to his friend's rant, as he was staring intently at the two computer screens showing the code behind one of Sam's web site projects. The project had been due two days ago, and although Sam had negotiated a week's delay, he still wanted to get it done as soon as possible. With his jobs – three, currently – he never knew when he had the time to do this. So he worked, blocking out Danny's voice going on about his future brother in law – a position Tucker pitied the poor man for – and every now and then grunting in reply to make sure Danny wouldn't try to get a coherent reaction from him.

It was the silence that made him look up.

Danny had stopped pacing and was staring out of the window of Tucker's tiny two room apartment on the edge of town. The huge green neon sign of Axion hung like a rising moon in the sky, the building it was standing on invisible in the dark, and although his friends were of the opinion that he got a lousy deal on it, Tucker rather liked the view.

Not for the first time, he noticed how tired his friend looked. He himself had slept the whole afternoon, after his shift at CompuStore, which job was starting to get a little precarious with him showing up late all the time. Danny had gone to see a client, had captured a ghost with some difficulty and had then proceeded to fight Skulker in the forest. All of which had probably drained the half ghost of most of his energy. And tonight, they were on again...

"Danny," he said, "Go and lay down on my bed for a bit while I finish this. You're driving me nuts and you're driving yourself nuts. You're tired. You're not thinking straight. This is Jazz we're talking about, she knows what she's doing. This isn't another Johnny Thirteen. And if we're out again tonight for a rematch with those ghost rats, I would really like for you _not_ to fall asleep on the job."

Danny turned around and Tucker expected another rant. Instead, he rubbed his face with both hands, smiled ruefully and nodded.

"Alright," he said, "You win. Wake me a twelve."

With that, he trudged past Tucker and disappeared into Tucker's bedroom. Tucker watched him go, mentally adding an hour to Danny's desired wake up time.

* * *

Nicolas Sawyer leaned against the wall, surveying the organized chaos of the police investigation. Several members of the forensics team were walking around, taking finger prints, examining the empty glass cases. Locked, empty glass cases. Sawyer bent forward and examined the lock of one of the cases closest to him. Not a scratch on it. It looked like the thief must have had a key, but he knew better.

He shook his head. A thief. Entering the jewelry store a little after one thirty, somehow having disabled the alarm system, opening the lock with a magically produced key and then leaving again with the entire inventory? He sighed and looked at the tape in his hand. The entire robbery was on it. He had secured the tape, had taken possession of it personally, not wanting anybody to get sloppy and accidentally let a copy of it slip to the press.

He had watched the tape in the back room, accompanied by the stressed jeweler who had been too distraught to realize what it was he had been watching. The man had literally been wringing his hands, moaning about insurance and defective alarm systems, and Sawyer had left him to it.

And now he had the tape, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. He knew what he should to, and he knew what he wanted to do. There was a discrepancy between those two things, and as long as he hadn't figured out all the consequences, he was going to keep the thing with him. Sit on it, so to speak. Let it mull in his head. Eventually, something would come out.

He stepped outside into the street and watched the heavy morning traffic go by. Another night shift which had ended long ago, another report to file – two, actually, as he also hadn't finished the one about the ghost rat infestation down at the docks, for which he might as well copy the one from the previous night – and another probably fruitless attempt to get some sleep in the afternoon while outside his house children were playing. Fumbling around his pockets for a moment before realizing that he had given up smoking, he trudged away to his car, leaving the technical details to his younger colleagues.

* * *

Jay Fletcher was sweating. His breath came in short gasps and he clutched the sink tightly, trying to regain control over himself again. Slowly, feeling returned in his fingers, his arms, his legs, and his knees buckled. Only the fact that he was leaning on the sink prevented him from sinking to the floor of one of the school's restrooms. Fortunately, he was the only one there. Unfortunately, this was because everybody else was in class, where he should be too. He was going to get a detention again.

He looked down at his bare arms and felt his stomach lurch. With a shaking hand, he opened the tap and started rinsing the blood off his arms, until only the thin lines of the cuts were visible. Then he reached down in his bag, retrieved the bandages and carefully wrapped them around his wrists. He rolled down his sleeves and looked in the mirror.

"I'm sorry," he said, "Please. I won't do it again."

The boy in the mirror shook his head and smiled.

* * *

"... So then Tucker started blasting the crates and they all ran out into the open, one after the other, and I was able to sweep them all up in the thermos. Not that it's any use, though, they'll show up again tonight and we can start all over again, fourth night in a row. There must be a portal there, because I have no idea how they get back there every time."

Danny was sitting in the back seat of Gary's rental car, leaning back, his arms spread out. He looked well rested now. Gary kept an eye on him in his rear view mirror, and every now and then caught the man's cold blue eyes, scrutinizing him. He had the feeling he was being measured somehow, but he had no idea what Danny expected of him. Even Jack Fenton hadn't been this critical, and he had been a though man to convince he didn't mean his daughter any harm.

Jazz, half turned in her seat to be able to talk to her brother, frowned. "You haven't found it yet? The portal, I mean?"

Danny shook his head. "No, and that's strange, because normally I sense... can detect it with the ghost tracker. There's something there that attracts those rats, and I don't know what it is. But if I don't find it, we'll be stuck cleaning the place out every night."

Jazz turned back and stared at the road. Traffic was heavy, especially here on the way to the airport, but at least they were moving. Gary looked at her a couple of times from the corner of his eyes, but she seemed to be lost in thought. Behind him, Danny was quiet too and Gary was relieved when finally the exit for the airport came into view. He took it, struggled his way through the chaos of parking and leaving cars and managed to get a spot relatively close to the entrance. Together, the tree of them made their way to the arrivals of the small airport.

"What flight?" Jazz asked, looking up at a monitor, "From LA, right?" She looked at her watch, and then up at the board again. "Five thirty. We're right on time."

Gary thought he caught Danny grumbling that he could have gotten there a lot faster, but he had decided in the car that the best tactic would be to ignore his future brother in law, so he did. Jazz tugged at his arm and he followed her to the sliding glass doors through which his maybe future sister in law would be arriving.

He had met Sam Manson at Christmas with the Fentons in Wisconsin, and he had liked her instantly, not in the least because she had kept a firm reign on Danny. And now, with her back in town, he really would feel more at ease. If anybody could get through to Danny that he wasn't a threat, it would be her.

Beside him, Danny seemed to be getting nervous, although when Gary looked at him, his face remained carefully impassive. He started looking around, eyes scanning the people around them in a way that Gary thought was a little too searching, a little too intense. Then he shivered, and Gary could have sworn he could see Danny's breath, even though it was quite warm inside.

Danny took a step back and was just about to say something, when suddenly all hell broke loose.

At the other end of the room, people started screaming, and suddenly the crowd was moving. Gary stumbled backwards in surprise, and would have fallen if a hand hadn't caught him in an iron grip. He looked up at his savior and looked straight into Danny's grim face.

"Take Jazz out of here," he ordered.

Then he was on his feet again and looking around frantically for his fiancee's red hair. Danny pushed him, and he stumbled forward. Jazz grabbed his arm.

"Come on," she yelled, "This way!"

To his surprise, she didn't try to run with the crowd, but instead pushed them to the side until they reached the counter of the information desk. Once there, Jazz unceremoniously climbed over it and let herself drop behind it. Gary followed her.

"What are we doing here?" he yelled at her.

Jazz shook her head and peered over the counter. Gary desperately wanted her to stay down, wanted to stay down himself too, but he also wanted to know what was going on. He joined her, crouching to stay as low as possible.

The area had almost cleared, but there were still people there, huddling together behind a pillar, or, like they were, hiding behind a counter. One person, however, was not hiding. In fact, he was squatting in the middle of the room, in plain sight, rummaging in the backpack he always seemed to be carrying. Unhurriedly, he took out several items and placed them on the floor in front of him. An odd looking gun. A thermos. A bo staff, glowing green, surprisingly long to have fitted inside...

A slight noise made Gary tear his eyes away from Jazz's brother and look at the other end of the room, at the cause of the sudden panic. And almost panicked himself. It was tall, at least seven or eight feet. Brown, leathery skin, with glowing red eyes. Claws for hands, pointy ears, vaguely humanoid shape. Floating. He gulped.

"Hush," Jazz whispered, placing a hand on his arm.

He glanced at her, and noticed she looked slightly worried. Then he looked back at Danny, who had straightened, holding the bo staff loosely in his right hand. He looked totally unconcerned.

"What is he going to do?" Gary whispered to Jazz, "Is he going to _fight_ that thing?"

"Yes, of course he is," she whispered back, "That's what he does. I just..."

Her sentence was cut off when the... demon, for lack of a better word, suddenly charged. Gary felt Jazz's hand tighten her grip on his arm, and he placed his own hand over hers, trying to reassure her, even though he felt he could use some reassurance himself. He kept his eyes on Danny though, suddenly fascinated by the casual way the man swung the bo staff and dove to the side in one easy roll, as if he had done that particular move a hundred times. He hit the demon square in the stomach, and the thing let out a surprised, ear piercing squeal.

Danny was on his feet instantly, now holding the stick with both hands. He was facing Gary, and Gary noted the man was grinning. The demon charged, and Danny swung the staff again, this time hitting the ghost square on the chest. The demon, however, seemed to have expected that, because he managed to partially deflect the blow, suddenly change direction and rake his claw over Danny's chest. To his dismay, Gary saw Danny's gray t-shirt turn red.

The demon didn't stop there. It was on top of Danny almost instantly, effectively rendering the bo staff useless. Its claws dug into Danny's arms, and Danny staggered backwards until his back hit one of the pillars holding the building upright. Right behind the pillar, two flight attendants screamed and ran away.

The demon seemed distracted by that. It let go of Danny, who instantly let himself drop to the floor, rolled away and swung himself to his feet again in one fluid motion. The demon had lost interest in him though. It turned away from him, took two giant leaps and set after the running and screaming women in their identical blue outfits.

As soon as Danny saw he no longer had the demon's attention, he let out a shout. Gary covered his ears and winced, trying to figure out how the man could produce such a loud noise. For a moment, he had thought that by shouting at the demon, Danny had tripped it. The demon hit the ground as if he had been hit with a blow in the back. Danny walked closer, still holding the bo staff, slowly turning it in his hand.

"Right here, stupid," he said to the demon.

The demon growled and jumped up, his attention now focused on Danny again. Which, Gary surmised, had been his intention. He hadn't wanted the demon to go after the flight attendants, he wanted the demon to go after him and him alone. That was why he was taunting it, mocking it so it would attack rashly. A dangerous tactic. One that worked.

The demon charged. Danny jumped. For an impossible moment, Gary thought he was actually suspended in mid air as the demon rushed ahead beneath him, and then he was falling back to the floor again, on his feet, having turned himself around in mid-air. He swung the bo staff, hitting the demon on the top of its head. The bo staff cracked. The demon stopped and shook his head as if to clear it. A blue vortex appeared from behind the pillar, sucking the demon in.

Silence fell over the room. Danny just stood there, panting. In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard. Somebody whimpered.

Danny straightened and looked around. Then he bent forward and picked up the remains of his bo staff, looking morosely at it. From behind the pillar, a dark haired woman stepped into view, carrying one of the strange looking soup thermoses Gary had seen both at Danny's office and at Jack and Maddie Fenton's house at Christmas. Gary recognized her instantly.

Sam Manson.

Danny looked up. "Hey," he said, "What took you so long?"

Sam smirked at him. "You were having so much fun, I didn't want to spoil your afternoon workout."

Danny grimaced and looked down at his chest.

"Nasty buggers, those demons," he said.

Sam stepped closer, lifted his shirt and frowned. "Isn't this one of the shirts I bought you last Christmas?"

"It is. Let's get out of here before the GIW decide to show up," Danny answered. He tilted his head and frowned. "I think I hear them."

Gary, by that time, had climbed over the counter again and had helped Jazz over as well. He approached the strange couple, just in time to hear that last remark.

"That's good, right?" he asked, "I mean, that's what they're here for, right, to catch ghosts?"

"In case it escaped your attention," Danny said, ignoring the jab in his arm Sam gave him, "We already caught the ghost. And I have no particular desire to meet them at the moment."

He glanced around the hall, noticing the people that were trying to negotiate their way through the rubble and find the luggage they had discarded earlier in their rush to get out.

"Come on," he said.

Grabbing Sam's suitcase, he quickly joined the crowd. He got a few strange looks from people who had either seen the fight (a few), or noticed his bloody shirt (a lot), but he ignored them. Gary held Jazz's hand while he tried to keep up with him, but had a hard time following the graceful, agile movement of the ghost hunter. He looked back at Jazz, who smiled encouragingly at him, and almost bumped into Danny as he suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Thank you," he said.

Gary stared at him. And if he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed the discrete punch Sam gave her friend. Danny grimaced.

"For looking after Jazz," he clarified, "I guess you're alright."

With that, he turned again and quickly disappeared in the crowd, leaving a stunned Gary and a bemused looking Jazz to stare at his back.


	5. Chapter 4

_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"Jay... hey, Jay, wait up!"

Jay stopped in his tracks, head down, one hand holding his book bag in place, the other on the banister of the stairs in the now empty school. A quick internal debate left him standing motionless for a moment, before finally looking up at his friend, running down the hallway to get to him. Roger obviously had thought he'd take the main entrance, which was why he had tried sneaking out the back. Not a route he would normally take, since it took him past the practicing football players who weren't above some jabbing remarks or throwing a football against his head. He had successfully fought them off the year before, and his added height and weight made him a less attractive bully victim, but if there was nobody else around to torment, who knew what they might try. There were a lot of them after all.

Of course, he could outrun them easily. He couldn't run away from Roger though, not because he wasn't in better shape than his overweight best friend, but Roger would then simply follow him home.

The debate in his head ended, and he looked up at his wheezing friend, coming to a stop tree feet away from him, dragging his heavy book bag with him.

"Hey man, what's up," he said in between gasps, "Are you trying to avoid me? I haven't seen you all day."

"Of course not," Jay said, hoping he sounded normal, "I was in detention, you know that."

"Yeah, about that," Roger said, his breathing slowly returning to normal, "What was that all about? You skipping class?"

Jay looked away. He shrugged. "Didn't feel like it," he said, "That Forrester woman drives me nuts with her chatter."

Roger's expression changed. He stepped closer, a searching look on his face. Jay tried to keep his face as blank as possible. "Look," he said, "I don't know why you waited for me..."

"I always used to wait for you," Roger muttered, "Remember?"

"...But I need to get home," Jay continued, grabbing his bag a little tighter.

"Sure," Roger said, "And I'm supposed to come with you, remember? You said you'd help me with trigonometry..."

"I'm sorry," Jay said, grinding his teeth, "I'll help you some other time. Today is not a good day for me."

"But..."

"Look!" Jay was shouting now, "Quit following me around. I said I'd help you and I will. But. Not. Now!"

With that, he turned around, pushed Roger aside and rushed out down the hallway towards the main entrance. Roger stared after him. He was just about to call out to his friend when he caught a glimpse of the bandage sticking out from under his long sleeved shirt. Slowly, he closed his mouth again. He watched his friend slam the door closed after him, the bang of it echoing through the school.

"Not again," he muttered.

* * *

"So, how is he doing?" Jazz asked Sam as she quietly closed the door to the guest bedroom in her apartment, carrying a large and well stocked first aid kit. Gary looked up at the two women standing by the door. Danny had refused Jazz entrance to what seemed to be his room, and Sam had shrugged, had glanced at Jazz apologetically and had pushed her friend into the room, chiding him for rudeness. To which he had reacted with an eye-roll. Jazz had been standing there, something between a scowl and a frown on her face, and Gary had wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

"He's fine." Sam shrugged. "As usual. I told him to get some rest before the pizza arrives."

Jazz raised her eyebrows and unfolded her arms. "We haven't even ordered."

Sam grinned. "And I don't plan to for another two hours. Look, you guys should go and grab a bite somewhere, I'll wake him at ten and then we'll order some. Then we'll have plenty of time before we have to leave for the docks around midnight."

Jazz shook her head and smiled. "I'm not really hungry. We'll stay here. It's been over two months since we've talked, you'll have to fill me in on what's been happening with Specter Detectors. What's with all those new ghost weapons?"

They sat down on Sam's comfortable couch and Gary, intrigued and hoping to find out more about Jazz, Sam and their mutual ghost hunting past, decided to stay very quiet and pretend he wasn't there. Sam pulled up her legs and crossed them, grabbing her ankles with her hands and leaning forward a little.

"You don't know?" she asked, "Danny didn't tell you?"

Jazz sighed. "Danny stopped telling me anything a long time ago. Whenever I ask him something nowadays, his first reaction is to clam up and look for the exit."

"OK," Sam said, frowning, and proceeded to recount the story of the retrieval of the Rosemary Diamond and the arrest of Theresa Daniels. Gary didn't move, and for a while he thought the two women really had forgotten he was there, until he saw Sam glance at him in the middle of a sentence, stop, and then rephrase it. She was obviously not telling them everything. And from the worried look in Jazz's eyes, she knew exactly what it was.

* * *

Detective Sawyer rubbed his eyes, looked at his watch, and then back at the entrance of the warehouse. The orange light of the streetlights didn't manage to penetrate inside, so the door and the windows seemed like gaping holes, black pits from which the darkness seemed to be flowing out. Every now and then he could see the flash of the flashlight the woman ghost hunter had been carrying, and a few minutes ago he could have sworn he saw some green lightning coming from one of the second floor windows, but all was quiet now. He looked up and down the street, then back at his car, parked in the middle of the road to stop the nonexistent traffic, and finally at his partner, Jake, standing on the other end of the street, every now and then moving a little, stamping his feet and restlessly walking back and forth.

Two thirty AM. They should be coming out soon. The previous nights – four, this was the fifth in a row – they had never been in there longer than two hours. He wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned against his car again, shifting his position. The chief had asked him to keep an eye on Fenton, to stand watch while the man was exterminating the ghost rats from the warehouse, so he did. He wasn't sure what had prompted the chief to do that, but he had a suspicion the visiting GIW the previous week had something to do with it. So now he was standing there, standing watch, keeping away onlookers that weren't there. The area of the docks was deserted.

Which gave him plenty of time to contemplate the security tape that was burning in the glove compartment of his car.

Just when he was starting on the third round of 'reasons to hand the tape over to the GIW' versus 'show it to Daniel Fenton', the door to the warehouse slammed open and two figures stepped out. Sawyer veered up, quickly checked his surroundings and then headed towards the ghost hunting couple. On the other side of the street, Jake did the same.

As he approached them, he could see that this time there seemed to be no injuries. The woman, Ms Manson, looked around and turned to say something to Fenton, who let out a short laugh. They both strolled over to Sawyer, meeting him halfway.

"Well, we're done for tonight," Fenton said, holding up the strange soup thermos with the blinking green light, something which, Sawyer had learned, indicated that there were ghosts stored inside, but that it wasn't yet full.

Sawyer nodded. Jake joined them, gave the ghost hunters a suspicious look, but stayed quiet. He hadn't been there the previous nights, assigned to a stakeout of some drug lord or other, but tonight he had joined Sawyer just as he was leaving the station, grumbling something about babysitting ghost hunters. Sawyer knew better than to ask what it was that bothered Jake, but he could guess. Staking out drug lords was far more glamorous – if not boring, because usually nothing ever happened – than keeping away nonexistent onlookers at a deserted warehouse at the docks.

"Alright," he said, "Any progress on finding where they're coming from?"

Fenton shook his head. "We're working on it," he said tiredly, "Until then, we're stuck flushing them out every night." He turned to the woman standing beside him, trying, but failing, to appear patient. Sawyer smiled.

"Thanks for tonight, Sam," Fenton said, "I don't know what I would've done without you."

She smirked at him. "Tucker needed his sleep," she said, "He was starting to look like a zombie. Not everybody can sleep well into the afternoon, you know."

Fenton flushed. "I know," he said, sounding slightly irritated, "But that's hardly my fault."

Manson looked at him oddly, but then seemed to let it go. Sawyer watched the exchange with interest, wondering for the umpteenth time what exactly their relationship entailed. He couldn't make heads nor tails of the strange attraction between the two. He took a step back and glanced at his car once more, feeling a bit ashamed at his fascination with the ghost hunters and a little apprehensive about the tape in his car. Before he could decide one way or the other however, Fenton grabbed Ms Manson by the arm, bid both the younger and the elder detective a good night – or what was left of it – and walked away. Sawyer wondered briefly where they had parked their car, but then was distracted by the slightly distorted voice of the dispatch, sounding obnoxiously loud through the open window of his car, echoing against the dark warehouses.

"Fifteen-twenty, come in, fifteen-twenty, this is central. Jake? Sawyer?"

Jake looked at him, looked at the retreating ghost hunter couple, shrugged and walked towards their car. He obviously had had something else in mind before being interrupted in his plans by the radio in the car, and Sawyer suspected he had intended to follow the ghost hunters to see what they were up to. Jake didn't trust them, a feeling that no doubt was fed by the fact that they were freelancers, working on their own terms, instead of government regulated. Sawyer knew he should feel the same way, but somehow felt strangely drawn to Fenton ever since the man had come bursting through the ghost portal, carrying the missing diamond. He had refused to elaborate on how he had obtained it, and Sawyer had had visions of him wrestling the ghost of Harold Daniels for it. He wouldn't put it past him.

Jakes voice sounded loud in the empty street.

"Sawyer. Let's go. Another break in."

Sawyer, startled out of his musings, rushed toward the car, where Jake was already climbing behind the wheel. Sawyer didn't protest this time, but quickly rounded the car to the passenger side.

"Another jeweler store?" he asked.

Jake nodded. Sawyer looked at the glove compartment, then sunk down in his seat.

"Alright," he said, "Let's have a look."

* * *

"So," Jazz said, sitting at the breakfast table in their Park View hotel. She was leaning back in her chair, looked at her half eaten breakfast appraisingly, and then looked at the dark haired woman sitting across from her.

"How did it go last night?"

Sam shrugged, taking a bite from her bagel and eying Jazz's plate suspiciously. Then she looked outside, at the bare trees in the park, the overcast sky giving everything a dreary look. It was early – by Sam's standards – not yet ten thirty, and already the day promised to be wasted.

"Alright, I guess," she answered, "We caught the rats. But it's no use. They'll be back tonight. We really need to find the portal. We can't keep this up. I'm dead, and I've been at it only one night. Tucker is on the verge of being fired, and Danny..."

Jazz leaned forward. "What about Danny?" she asked, "What's going on? Is he in some sort of trouble?"

Sam laughed. "When is he not?" she asked, "But seriously. I don't know. Ever since Tucker and I returned to Amity Park over a year ago, he's been more secretive than ever. Maybe it's just me. Maybe he's gotten used to dealing things by himself, he doesn't need us any longer. We used to be so close, you know? We told each other everything, every little mishap, every ghost glitch..."

"And?" Jazz asked, slipping into her psychiatrist mode almost without noticing. Sam noticed though, because she gave her a suspicious look.

"And nothing. Everything seems fine. Like I said, maybe it's just me. It's like we simply picked up where we left off six years ago."

"And you think that's wrong."

Sam, now both crept out a bit by Jazz the psychiatrist and driven by a strange feeling of wanting to talk to the only person she could freely talk about her weird life, looked down at her hands. It wasn't that she didn't think anything was wrong, it was just that she felt she somehow didn't have the _right_ to question Danny's actions. She had left him when he needed her. Screw it that he himself had told her to go, she should have stayed.

"You feel guilty," Jazz said.

Sam's head shot op. Jazz's green eyes seemed to look right through her.

"What? No. I..." she stammered.

"For leaving him stranded in Amity Park," Jazz continued. She leaned forward. "Don't. I used to feel guilty as well, I always thought he wouldn't make it without me and look at him now. He's doing fine. Yes, he has issues. He would have had them with us here as well. The only difference would have been that we would have been watching him deal with the things he has to deal with. It was his choice to stay here, you know. He could have left, easily. He _chose_ to stay."

"But," Sam said, "The ghosts... he said he had to stay here to defend Amity Park..."

"He could have shut down the ghost portal. Before he became... what he is, there were ghosts in Amity Park. It's the most haunted city in the world. But he didn't want to shut it down."

Sam stared out of the window. Slowly, she nodded. "He's a ghost," she said, "Ghosts have obsessions... his is fighting ghosts. Defending Amity Park. Play the hero. He needs the portal."

Jazz remained quiet. Sam picked up a knife and twirled it in her hand. The sounds of the restaurant seemed distant, a familiar noise, playing background to their conversation. Somebody laughed, and Sam looked up, not really interested in the person laughing, an automatic reaction to a dissonant in the background noise.

"He knows it too," she said.

"Why do you think that?" Jazz asked.

Sam smiled at the standard psychiatrist question. "He double checks everything he does. It took him over a year to start up 'Specter Detectors', and that was only because your parents were moving away and he had nowhere else to go. He's had trouble adjusting to being a ghost hunter in human form."

Jazz looked interested, and was just about to comment when Sam's phone started playing 'Ghost Busters'. Sam flushed and quickly retrieved her phone from her jacket, while Jazz raised her eyebrows.

"Hey Danny," she said.

"Hey, Sam, where are you?"

His voice sounded chipper and way too optimistic. Sam frowned.

"Are you at my place?" she asked.

"Um... yeah. I thought you'd still be asleep. Hey, we've got work to do, and Tucker's working. Would you like to come along?"

"You didn't go into rooms I told you to stay out of, did you?"

"No!" Offended. "And I knocked. Anyway, I need you, Sam. It's in one of those big houses on the hill. Aldridge family, ring any bells?"

"Uh..." Sam frowned, then looked up at the waiter that had silently appeared at their table, and shook her head at him, indicating no more coffee. "Yeah, I guess so. Probably. You need me to smooth talk them while you wreck the place in search for the ghost?"

Laughter. "Or I smooth talk them and you wreck the place. Whatever makes you happy." A hesitant silence. Then, "So. Where are you?"

"Having breakfast with your sister," Sam said, smiling at the silence at the other end of the line and imagining the double take Danny did.

"OK," he finally said, "I'll come over then."

Before she could tell him not to bother, she'd meet him wherever they were supposed to go, he'd hung up. Sam shrugged, and closed her phone.

"He'll be here in a few minutes," she said to Jazz, who had been listening to her end of the conversation with interest.

"He randomly pops into your apartment?" she asked, "And you allow that?"

"Well..." Sam didn't quite know what to say to that. "Yeah. But so does Tucker. My place sort of evolved to a general purpose headquarters whenever the office becomes to cramped or we want something decent to eat."

"And what was that 'you didn't go into rooms you're not supposed to go' thing?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing." Then, when Jazz's eyebrows raised so high she was afraid they'd come off, "I found out he checks on me when I sleep, so I told him to stay out of my bedroom."

Jazz blinked, then laughed, shaking her head. "Oh boy," she said, "He has it bad. And still clueless."

Sam flushed. "It's nothing like that and you know it. He's just... possessive. And I'm sort of seeing somebody, so I wanted to make sure no... embarrassing situations would arise."

"You're seeing somebody? Who?"

"You're still seeing that Benedict guy?" a familiar male voice asked behind them.

Both Sam and Jazz started and turned around, to stare into the suspicious eyes of Danny Fenton, hollow eyed and tired looking, carrying his trademark black backpack which, Jazz knew, contained several more or less powerful ghost weapons, mostly for show, but some actually useful. Like the thermoses, old but still functional.

"You knew that, Danny," Sam said patiently, "I told you."

"Yeah, well," he said, visibly reigning in his temper, "I thought you stopped seeing him. You never talk about him anymore."

"That's because you always criticize him when I do," Sam said, "And I really don't need that from you. So I stopped mentioning him."

Danny turned to Jazz. "He's a twit," he informed her, "A lawyer. And you know you can't trust lawyers."

"See?" Sam asked, annoyance clear on her face, "You keep doing that. Stop criticizing whoever we're seeing, Danny. Don't try to live our lives for us, we're perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, in fact, that's exactly what we were doing when we..."

She stopped, realizing what she was about to say. When they had left him. She looked up at him, and the flash of hurt in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she had been about to say. But it was gone instantly, to be replaced by a resigned look.

"I can't help worrying," he said.

"Well, stop," Sam said, shooting a glance at Jazz and noticing Gary entering the breakfast room at the other side, looking sleepy. He made his way towards them, stopped when he saw Danny, and then continued, bearing a cautious look on his face.

"Get your own date," she continued, "Stop obsessing."

"Hey, I can get dates," Danny said. He looked at her, then looked behind him and spotted Gary. A brief scowl appeared on his face, until he forced his expression into a more neutral one.

"Really?" Jazz asked, "Name one."

"Name one what?" Gary asked, dropping down in the chair next to Jazz after kissing her briefly.

"Angie. Last week," Danny said.

"Angie? From the courier service?" Sam asked, "I thought you said it was a one time thing in exchange for information?"

"Yeah, well...," Danny muttered, suddenly looking flustered. He looked down at this watch. "Hey, whaddayaknow, look at the time, come on, Sam, we need to get going."

He unceremoniously grabbed her arm and dragged her up from her seat. Sam grinned evilly at him, allowed him to drag her along for a few steps and then dug in her heels.

"Go ahead," she said, "I'll be there in a sec."

Danny, long years of experience telling him when not to mess with her, nodded and strode off, ignoring Gary completely. Sam watched him go, making sure he was out of earshot, then turned and looked down at the couple still seated at the table.

"So," she said, "When are you going to tell him you're pregnant?"


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: OK, this is sort of fillerish, couldn't find a good place to break it off so I just chose a random point. Sorry.

* * *

**chapter 5**

* * *

"OK, run it again," Fenton said, leaning over Foley who was seated at the cluttered desk in their tiny office.

Foley moved his mouse, clicked the media player and restarted the recording. Standing behind Fenton, detective Sawyer looked around the office, having already seen the images so many times he could probably reconstruct them frame by frame. The office hadn't changed much since the last time he visited, over a month ago, except for the new looking computers and ghost... things. He studied them. They looked like weapons, long, white rifles with strange contraptions on top of them.

Sighing, he took a sip from his coffee and grimaced at the strength of the black substance. He didn't complain though. He had gotten little to no sleep that morning, and had finally dragged himself out of bed way in the afternoon. Neither Fenton nor Foley looked much better though.

He looked back at the laptop the two ghost hunters were staring intently at. It looked brand new too, with a large, high resolution external monitor attached to it. Next to it, an equally new looking printer and scanner. The rest of the office, the desks, the shelves on the wall, the chairs, were still old and battered. Books were piled up high on the floor because there was no space left on the shelves. Overflowing trashcan. Ancient looking desk lamp. It was clear what these people's priorities were: equipment, not a fancy office. Thinking about the GIW and their plans for a brand new luxurious 'research' center on the edge of town, he found this strangely comforting.

"And you're saying the ghost detectors never showed any activity?"

Sawyer shrugged and looked at Fenton, who was now looking at him instead of at the screen.

"Nothing at all. At first we thought it was just malfunctioning, but then the same thing happened at the second break in." He nodded at the screen. "Guy walks into the store like there's no walls, no alarm system, yet the ghost detectors every jewelry shop had installed after Danny Phantom robbed them a few years back never went off." Was it his imagination or did Fenton flinch? "Then he snatches only the most expensive jewelry and leaves the same way. There's no sign of a break-in or that he even touched anything."

Fenton stared into the distance for a moment, and Sawyer turned to Foley. "I'm going to have to show these to the GIW soon," he said, "Even though the detectors didn't show anything. If they had, it'd have been a clear cut case, and I wouldn't have bothered you. But I want to know what I'm dealing with and they're..." He hesitated, trying to find a way to say he had more faith in 'Specter Detectors' than the official government agency as diplomatically as possible.

"Fools?" Foley supplied, "Incompetent idiots? Arrogant twits? Overdressed..."

"We get it," Fenton said distractedly.

He leaned forward and pressed a button, starting the footage of the robbery again, a strange expression on his face. Foley watched him for a moment, and then turned to Sawyer.

"Can we have a look at the ghost detectors?" he asked.

* * *

Danny paused at the entrance of the jewelry shop - 'Starlight Diamonds', the second store that had been robbed in just as many nights – and seemed to collect himself before going in. Of his three companions, only Tucker knew what he was doing, why he didn't go in immediately. Detective Sawyer looked at the ghost hunter oddly. Gary, having arrived at the office at his fiancee's orders just before they left, was obviously not paying attention because he bumped into Tucker. He muttered an apology.

Tucker frowned. He knew that if Danny had to handle a ghost detector, he had to suppress his ghostly side to a point it was hardly there at all, had to try and bury his ectoplasmic signature so deep he would be as human as possible. He just wished the half ghost was a little less obvious about it. His behavior certainly was raising some suspicions. And neither making a police detective nor your future brother in law suspicious seemed like a good idea. Tucker needed to step in and create a diversion – and he had just the thing.

"Hey Danny, thinking about what ring to get Sam?" he asked.

Danny turned to him and glared. Tucker grinned at him, pleased with the fact that even though Danny was obviously annoyed, there was not the slightest hint of green in his eyes. Danny's scowl deepened, but then he shrugged, turned away from Tucker and opened the door, ducking under the police tape. Detective Sawyer followed him in after whispering something to the policeman standing guard next to the door, and Tucker nudged a clearly uncomfortable Gary before stepping inside.

The shop was dark. The showcases which should have been holding jewelry looked uncommonly bland when the clever lightening which normally made diamonds sparkle and emeralds greener than green was turned off. The only light came from the huge front windows. Tucker looked outside into the quiet street, his vision slightly blocked by the inverted words 'Starlight Diamonds'. He dropped his bag with a thud.

"Careful with that," Danny said.

"Why, what's in it?" Gary asked.

Danny looked at him and raised his eyebrows, as if he only just now noticed him. Gary looked back at him defiantly, obviously having decided not to be intimidated by him.

"You'll see," Danny said curtly. He turned to the waiting detective. "Can I see it?"

Sawyer nodded, rounded the counter and disappeared into the back of the store, to return moments later with a chair. He placed it next to the counter and was about to climb on top of it when Tucker intervened.

"Here, let me. This is my specialty anyways," he said.

Sawyer shrugged and stepped back, letting Tucker climb the chair to reach the small, hardly noticeable ghost detector device mounted to the wall right beside the video surveillance camera. Two small screws and a disconnected wire later had the thing sitting on the counter. Danny picked it up and turned it around in his hands, and only Tucker noticed the look of concentration on his face. He crossed his fingers. Setting the thing off wouldn't be a total disaster, it could always be explained away with a malfunction, but it would be better not to attract attention to the fact that Danny set off these things on a regular basis at all.

"Thing looks alright," Danny said, "It has a backup battery." He looked up. "Tucker?"

Tucker stepped back, retrieved his backpack from the floor and opened it, a curious Gary looking at its contents with interest. He was not disappointed, and his eyes widened when Tucker opened a dark canister and carefully retrieved a small vial containing a glowing green substance.

The ghost alarm started blaring.

Tucker winced at the piercing sound and quickly put the vial back into the shielded canister, knowing that the ghost alarm not only produced a loud noise to warn any human in the neighborhood a ghost was near, but that this particular model also produced a high frequency signal particularly unpleasant to ghosts. Danny looked pained.

"OK," he said, "Clearly the thing is working."

"What was that?" Gary asked, "Is that ectoplasm? How did you get a hold of that?"

"We catch ghosts," Danny said before Tucker could formulate a more diplomatic answer, "What do you think?"

Gary mumbled something and withdrew into himself. Tucker stepped forward and took the ghost detector out of Danny's hands to study it, but he couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. It was a fairly standard issue detector, based on the original design by Jack Fenton, perfected by his wife Maddie and now in mass production in a small factory on the edge of Amity Park. They were actually pretty good detectors, and Danny had been complaining about them endlessly in his emails to his friends when they were in college a few years back.

"So," Danny said, "We have a ghost that doesn't set off ghost detectors and who's obsession clearly is robbing jewelry stores."

Sawyer nodded. "Yes. And we need to catch it quickly or I get the GIW shoved into my investigation and they have a tendency to... well."

'Demolish everything and then declare the ashes ghost free," Tucker supplied.

"Really?" Gary asked, looking slightly taken aback.

"No." Detective Sawyer glared at Tucker. "But they tend to see ghosts everywhere, attribute everything to ghosts."

"Like a certain person we know," Tucker mumbled. Behind him, he heard Gary stifle a snort.

Danny waved his hand impatiently. "This is a ghost. We'll figure out why he doesn't set off the alarm later. What we need to do now is find out _why_ he's robbing the stores."

"Ghosts have obsessions," Tucker said, "This ghost is obsessed with jewelry, more specifically, robbing jewelry stores. Most likely he was a criminal when he was alive, and he probably robbed jewelry stores before."

"_This_ store," Danny said, "And the other one as well. Can you look into that? It might help us."

Sawyer nodded, retrieved his notebook and scribbled something down in it. Tucker looked at him in amazement and was about to comment on the man's archaic note taking when he saw Gary grinning at him. He closed his mouth and contented himself with shaking his head. Some people just refused to move forward.

* * *

"You worry too much," Sam said, stepping out of her car closing the door with a soft click.

"Really?" Gary said, "Because I was thinking I wasn't worrying enough."

They were standing next to Sam's sleek convertible – with the top up – in the orange glow of the streetlights. The street was deserted this time of night, save for a police car standing at the corner two hundred yards away. Gary could imagine the policemen sitting inside, bored out of their minds, waiting for yet another night of keeping an eye on the ghost hunting activities at the warehouse.

He sighed, turned and looked at the dark warehouse across the street. It looked normal, like any other warehouse, but with the added knowledge of it being infested with ghosts, more specifically ghost rats and as such combining disgusting with scary, the place looked ominous. Somehow, the dark windows seemed to radiate evilness. It wasn't hard imagining some dark force inside keeping the ghost rats bound to the place, always returning after having been caught night after night.

"Where is Danny, anyway?" Gary continued, walking around the car to join Sam, "Shouldn't we have given him a ride? I thought he didn't have a car?"

Sam shook her head, scanning the street for signs of her friend. "He'll be here," she said. She turned and looked up at him. "Seriously thought, don't worry so much about Danny. He's a good guy, and he _is_ capable of listening to reason. He's just slightly... protective of his sister."

"Obsessive, more like it," Gary mumbled. He looked at Sam pensively. "It goes both ways, though. Jazz is always fretting about her brother, trying to keep an eye on him from a distance, trying to find out what he's doing. She's always defending him with her parents. She thinks I don't notice, but I do. It seems... unhealthy."

Sam sighed and looked in the distance. "Yes, well... that probably has something to do with their weird childhood. You know what Mr and Mrs Fenton are like. They were always like that. From a very early age, I imagine, Jazz felt responsible for her little brother. The household was a little insane."

Gary frowned. "So they had a troubled childhood?"

Sam blinked. "No no, don't get me wrong. Their parents love them very much and would do anything to protect them, it's just that they tend to get a little sidetracked." Her face darkened. "Their place certainly was a better place to be than mine."

Gary was about to question her further when something caught his eye. He turned his head into the direction of what he thought had been some sort of flash, but there was nothing there. Just when he thought he had imagined it, a hooded figure stepped into the street from one of the alleys, looked around briefly and then quickly made their way to them. Gary suppressed a shiver. For a moment, he thought that he saw two glowing green eyes in the dark space that held the man's face, but then he stepped into the light of a streetlight and he saw it was just his future brother in law.

Danny stopped a few yards away from them and looked at Sam, eyebrows raised in a silent question Gary didn't understand. He had wanted to ask Sam about her strange relationship with the ghost hunter, but didn't quiet know how to go about it without sounding like he wanted to push them together the way everybody else seemed to be doing.

"Let's do this," Sam said.

She rounded the car, opened the hood and retrieved an old army-green backpack. She beckoned Gary to come closer while opening it, and he was surprised to see the amount of tools and gadgets in it, all seemingly haphazardly thrown together. Sam started rummaging through the assorted weaponry and strange looking devices while Gary and Danny stood and watched. Finally, she retrieved something that looked like a blocky – for lack of a better word - gun, looking old and scorched. She handed it to Danny, who briefly checked it and then nodded in approval.

"Here," Sam said, placing something in Gary's hand, "Put it on your wrist, like so." She demonstrated strapping the device to her own wrist, and Gary followed suit. "It's a wrist gun. Very handy, allows a lot of freedom. It's like shooting ecto blasts from your hand. You know, like some ghosts can."

Gary shifted uncomfortably, then looked at Danny. Jazz had said he'd be in no danger, Danny was very competent and would make sure Gary was safe – at which point she had glared at her brother – and besides, they were only ghost rats, right? How bad could it be?

Something clicked around his waist and he looked down in surprise, berating himself for his brief moment of inattention and letting his mind wander. Sam was standing very close to him, clicking some sort of belt in place with small blinking red and green lights on it.

"Specter Deflector," Sam said, "Don't give me that look. I didn't name the thing."

She hit a switch and the thing whirred to life, causing goosebumps on Gary's arms. Danny took a step back and looked slightly annoyed.

"There," Sam said, "All set. Shall we?"

* * *

The annoying buzz of her cell phone laying on her nightstand penetrated Jazz's dreams – pleasant, nice dreams full of family and houses with gardens and a dog – and she stuck out her hand from under the blanket to try and silence it. Before she could reach it, the phone landed on the floor with a clunk, where it kept buzzing, sound now slightly muffled because the thing was on the carpet instead of the wooden surface of the nightstand.

Muttering furiously, Jazz rolled to the side of the bed, grabbed the phone and unceremoniously canceled the call. Silence, at last.

Well, not completely. Now that she was awake, laying on her stomach with her left arm hanging down, her hand still wrapped around the phone on the floor, she realized she could hear the sound of traffic outside, and people walking down the hallway talking loudly, a vacuum cleaner in the room next door...

She looked up. Nine AM.

"Crap," she muttered.

Slowly, she turned around and viewed the warm, motionless body of her fiancee next to her, still sleeping soundly. For a moment, her eyes traveled to the bandage around his arm, courtesy of Sam after he had been bitten by a ghost rat, and again she felt her fury rise.

No danger, Danny had said. They were just rats. Ghost rats. It wasn't like they'd carry rabies or anything. She had specifically told him to watch out for Gary, to not let him get hurt.

To his credit, Danny had been apologetic and had looked somewhat rueful. And of course he had gotten the worst of it, completely covered in small scratches, bite marks and some deeper gashes.

Sam didn't have a scratch.

Jazz sighed and felt around for the pack of crackers she had placed on her nightstand. She fumbled with it for a moment and then stuffed one of the dry crackers in her mouth and started to munch, staring pensively at the ceiling. Had it been a mistake to come here? Would it have been a better idea to just phone Danny with the news and have him blow off steam before he got to meet Gary? She shook her head. That was the cowardly way out. That wasn't the kind of relationship she wanted to have with her brother. She wasn't afraid of him.

Was she?

The phone buzzed again. Jazz sighed and held its small screen close to her eyes to see who was calling. Identifying her caller, she sat up, swung her feet out of bed and stumbled across the room into the bathroom in order to take the call without waking Gary, thinking that if the cracker hadn't been enough to quell her morning sickness, she'd at least be close to the toilet if she felt sick again. She pressed the button.

"Hi, mom."

"Jazz! How are you!"

Jazz winced. Trust her mother to speak in exclamation marks this early in the morning. Never mind that it really wasn't that early.

"I'm good, mom. How are you?"

"Morning sickness?"

Jazz eyed the toilet. "A little," she admitted, "I've got it under control though."

"You should eat something before you get up, that's what I always did, works like a charm," her mother said, "I had Jack fetch me something to eat, and guess what, he always came back with...."

"Fudge. I know mom, you told me," Jazz said, closing the lid of the toilet and sitting down on it.

"Oh, yes, of course. Well. Never mind then. Did you tell him yet?"

Jazz rubber her eyes. Already, she could feel a headache coming up. "No."

Silence on the other end of the line. Then, "Why not, sweetie?"

Jazz sighed. Her parents didn't, couldn't, understand the delicacy of telling a half ghost news that was unsettling to him. Unsettling because, in all his attempts to be as human as possible, he had definite ghostly tendencies. Obsessions, for instance. And Danny had very clear and definite obsessions.

A hero complex not being the least of them. And possessiveness of his friends and family was another. She wanted Danny not only to accept the fact that she could make her own decisions, could live her life the way she saw fit, but also that she was perfectly capable of doing so and even if she wasn't, she was allowed to make her own mistakes. He couldn't protect her from everything. However much he wanted to.

"Well," she said, "You know Danny."

"Yes, I know Danny. And I don't understand why you're making such a fuss about it. He's a good kid, not some... dangerous psycho like you make him sound."

"He's not a kid anymore mom. I know he's not dangerous." Like hell. "It's just... he always overreacts. I want to bring it to him gently."

Sighing on the other end of the line. "Gary is a nice boy, Jazz. Danny is just being... stubborn."

Stubborn was one way to describe it. Jazz rubbed her eyes again and yawned. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly, and she leaned sideways and let her head rest against the cool tiles.

"Fudge, dear," her mother said, "I know it sounds crazy, but it did work."

Jazz closed her eyes. "Yes mom," she said.

* * *

"Three robberies in three days," Jake Tannenbaum said, "All the same MO, no sign of a break in, just taking the most expensive jewelry and leaving without setting off any alarms whatsoever. I'm thinking this is starting to look like a ghost-case, but why a ghost would go about stealing jewelry is beyond me... are you even listening?"

Sawyer grunted a reply, but kept staring intently at the screen of his computer, uncertain if what he saw there was what he had requested. He looked at his query again, wondering if this was how he was supposed to be doing it, but then he dismissed it. Jake would know, but Jake would question his motivation for wanting a list of deceased jewelry robbers from the last ten years or so, that had been suspected of having something to do with robberies of jewelry stores, specifically the ones that had been robbed recently in the robbery spree.

Deceased would mean GIW. Sawyer just wasn't ready for them yet.

Squashing the feeling that he was obstructing justice in some way and was digging himself in deeper than he should, he altered the query a little and pressed enter again. The little twirling icon appeared to indicate that the system was processing his request, searching databases, cross-referencing other databases and comparing results.

"What are you doing?" Jake said from the other side of the desk.

"I'm drawing up a list of suspects," Sawyer said smoothly, not altogether lying, "A list of people previously convicted or otherwise suspect in jewelry theft." He had prepared that particular list in advance. "I thought we might question them, see if they know anything, see if they have alibis."

"We don't have much to go on," Jake nodded, "Unless you want to involve the GIW."

Sawyer shuddered. "No," he said, "Not yet. Not until we're sure it is ghost related. The detectors didn't go off, after all."

"And they were all in working order," Jake sighed, "I can accept one malfunctioning ghost detector, or even two, but three in a row in as many jewelry stores? Unless the ghost has some way of shutting them off or avoiding them..."

Sawyer frowned. There was that, of course. Whatever means the ghost had used to enter the stores, it involved manipulation of ghost detectors. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how the ghost had been able to do that. Fenton seemed to have some idea though. He sunk down deeper into his chair and stared morosely at the screen.

This had better work.


	7. Chapter 6

_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"OK," Danny said, "Five names. Five known jewelry thieves that died in the past ten years... that doesn't seem like an awful lot?"

He was sitting in his usual spot – cross legged on the floor with his back against the door of their tiny office – looking down at the single sheet of paper in his hands. He squinted at the names. Nobody had bothered to turn on the lights just yet, and the light of the late afternoon was quickly diminishing.

"Morgan, Carl, five arrests, never convicted, robbed 'Starlight Diamonds' four years ago, they didn't have enough evidence to convict him. Died in a car crash three years ago."

"I can't connect him to the Sheherazade or the Top Line stores though," Sawyer said, looking slightly nervous. "He might have. They have been robbed in the past as well, Sheherazade twice and Top Lines no less than five times."

"OK," Danny said, scanning the list, "Who else do we have? Tom Ginsky, Harry Nasser, Lucile Vandersteen, Jonathan Fletcher. All dying years ago, Fletcher even eight years ago, Lucile one year ago. If it is any of these... why start now? Why wait? I was hoping..."

"For a recently deceased robber," Tucker said, "Maybe a week ago, a month at the most. Why wait a year... if it's Lucile? If it's any of the other guys, why wait even longer?"

Sam leaned down from her spot on the desk and snatched the piece of paper out of Danny's hands. She studied the list, soundlessly mouthing each of the names, trying to make something of them, and read the scant information printed next to the names in neat columns. Birth dates, last known addresses, arrest records.

"Nice characters," she muttered, "Ginsky, drunk driving... Lucile Vandersteen, assault... Fletcher, pickpocketing, domestic violence." She looked up. "Maybe it's not one of these," she said, "Maybe it's somebody who was never caught."

Sawyer shifted a little, looking slightly uncomfortable in the rickety swivel chair that was normally Sam's spot. "It's possible, yes," he said, "But all of these people have been connected in some way with one or more of these jewelry stores. It's not like there's some master thief out there that went around unnoticed. Everybody makes mistakes. They all have their way of doing things, they all have 'tells'."

"But that information is not on this sheet," Sam said, annoyed, "How are we supposed to see the connection if we don't have all the information?"

"Can't we narrow it down?" Tucker said, "Are there names that are connected to two of the stores? Or maybe even all three of them?"

"Even so," Danny said, looking up at them from the floor, "A ghost wouldn't wait... unless..."

"What?" Tucker and Sam said simultaneously.

"Remember the Benedict case?" Danny asked, working himself up from the floor.

"How could I forget?" Sam muttered, thinking about the ghost of the twin of the old lady that had managed to overshadow her half ghost friend.

Danny's face fell for a moment. "That's right, I forgot," he said acidly, "You're still dating that..."

"Don't you dare say it," she said angrily.

She glared at him, and he returned the look. For a moment, he seemed to want to take the challenge and start an all out fight, but then Tucker intervened.

"Guys, guys," he said, "We have company."

Danny looked down. Sam looked at his clenched fists worriedly, but then he suddenly seemed to regain control because he relaxed. He cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he said, shooting Sam an angry look, "The ghost was bound to an object. It wasn't free to go as it pleased."

"She," Sam said, "She. Not it."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What if this ghost was somehow tied down as well?"

"Then something must have happened to set it free, recently," Tucker said.

Sam looked at Sawyer, who had been listening quietly to their conversation. "Then it wouldn't matter," she said, "It could still be any of these. Could even be longer ago than ten years..."

Sawyer shook his head. "Top Line has only existed for ten years," he said, "If we're assuming that the ghost robbed all of these before, then it must have been in the last ten years."

"And whoever is was was alive ten years ago," Sam nodded, "So what do we do?"

Sawyer sighed and got up. "I'll go digging," he said, "Look at old files." He glanced at Tucker. "Maybe you can help as well. Try and do some research on these people on the web, find out if there's anything that is tied to these people that has changed recently."

Danny nodded. "Yeah. Like disturbing a grave, or tearing down his house. Something like that. Something that would set him free."

"Alright," Tucker said, "I'll do that. Later. Right now, I have a date."

"You do?" Sam said, "Who?"

Tucker grinned. "Marcia, from work."

"You finally wore her down, huh," Danny grinned.

"Hey," Tucker said, "I'm a hero. I saved her life, you know."

* * *

The door downstairs slammed shut after Tucker and detective Sawyer, and Sam looked at Danny. He met her eyes, but then looked away. An uncomfortable silence fell over the office. Danny shifted his feet, crossed his arms and looked outside.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

"For what?"

"Everything. I've been nagging you about your boyfriend and..."

Sam waved her hand in annoyance. "Oh for God's sake, he's _not_ my boyfriend."

"Yeah, well... that doesn't matter. I've been an ass. Please forgive me."

Sam shook her head, smiling. "You're an ass, and I forgive you for it," she said.

They were silent for a while.

"So, um, what's he like?" Danny asked.

Sam smiled, thinking about the handsome, charming young man she had dated a couple of times. "He's a nice person. Warm, caring, unlike his father. Vegetarian, which is good. Works for an environment protection group."

Danny looked at the floor. "Sounds like your kind of person, then," he said.

"He is."

She frowned. He _was_ her kind of person. Whenever they were together, they had a good time. Being with him was easy, talking about subjects they agreed upon (a lot), having friendly discussions on subjects they didn't (a few). And yet, something was nagging, something wasn't quite right. The thought that, nice as he was, he wasn't Danny kept wiggling itself into her thoughts. A little angry with herself, she pushed that away. She was over that years ago.

A comfortable silence now hung in the room. Danny looked at her, eyebrows raised, as if trying to guess what she was thinking. Sam pushed her thoughts towards something more productive.

"I know,"' she said, "Why don't we all get together, you know, a double date thing. I'll bring Geoffrey and you can bring Angie... I'd love to meet her."

Danny looked away.

"I can't do that," he said, "She's mad at me."

"Oh? Why?"

"I promised I'd call her and I didn't."

Sam stared at him, comprehension dawning on her face. She knew him way too well not to catch almost the entire story behind his remark.

"You went out with her and then simply dumped her by ignoring her? That's why you haven't been working the past month, she's not giving you any work anymore."

He stared at the wall, avoiding her eyes. A sudden wave of anger and frustration welled up in her. She got up and grabbed her coat.

"Figure it out, Daniel. You can't use people like that. We don't like it. Suppress your ghostly instincts."

She slammed the door behind her, a furious expression on her face, but also a little ashamed about that last remark. He hadn't said anything about it, but she knew he was struggling with his humanity, questioning almost any decision he made, turning it around and around in his head in search for motives that could be contributed to his half-ghost state. She was sure that that was why he had waited so long before finally starting up his business. He had been forced into it when his parents had announced their departure.

She looked back at the door for a moment and then turned around and descended the narrow staircase, took three steps and opened the door. Outside, his hand hovering in the vicinity of the doorbell, was a chubby boy with dark rimmed glasses. He looked startled and let his hand drop at his side. She stared at him, trying to figure out where she had seen him before.

"H-hi," he said nervously.

* * *

On reentering the office, she found Danny sitting in the same place, staring blankly at the wall. He didn't look up when she entered, didn't look up when she let in her companion, and didn't look up when she softly closed the door behind them. An eerie silence hung in the office. She cleared her throat.

"Come to jab at me some more?" Danny asked.

He didn't sound resigned though. He sounded defeated, accepting. Sam realized that she had hit a sensitive spot. He had told her about Angie, how she scared him with her questions, her prompting him to talk about himself. She knew he didn't want to talk about himself, not to Angie, not to his sister and even not to her and Tucker. And still, he had been attracted to her, because she had brought him something Sam and Tucker, best friends and all, couldn't: normalcy.

In all those years that she had known him, Danny had always longed for one thing and one thing only: to be normal. Seemingly a small thing to ask for, for him, with his crazy parents, it wasn't. Jazz had coped differently, had tried to free herself by working hard, by distancing herself from the ghost part of her life, by simply denying her parents had this strange obsession at all.

Danny had tried to fit in. Until the accident had changed everything.

Sam swallowed away another pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," she said to him, "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it."

He finally looked up, eyes unreadable. Then he blinked, noticing for the first time her companion. Sam stepped aside and gestured at the boy.

"Remember Roger Cully?" she asked him, "When we caught Pointdexter? Our very first case?"

Danny nodded, recognition in his eyes. The boy and his friend had helped capturing the strangely altered Pointdexter a few months back.

"Sure," he said, extending his hand. The boy shook it.

Sam nodded encouragingly at Roger.

"You can tell us," she said, "Whatever it is, it won't leave this room."

Roger was fidgeting, looking nervously at the two ghost hunters,

"I-I'm not sure," he said, looking from Sam to Danny and back, "It's my friend, Jay. I think something's wrong with him."

* * *

The bright lights of the Nasty Burger reflected on the surface of the sticky Formica table. The place was fairly busy at this hour, but not so busy they couldn't get a table. Roger was slumped down in his seat, slurping his Nasty Shake with vigor. Across from him, the frighteningly professional looking woman ghost hunter was sipping her soy shake – how anybody could even remotely consider ordering that was beyond him – while doodling on a crumpled sheet of paper. The man sitting next to her – Mr Fenton, the guy Jay stabbed when he had been possessed by a ghost – was sitting next to her, munching down a double Nasty Burger and a super sized shake.

"It started a few days ago," Roger said finally, when he had made sure there really was no delicious Nasty shake left in his cup by loudly slurping up the last remains. "He was late for school. And Jay's never late. And then the next day, I went to pick him up, and he was still in bed."

"So?" Mr Fenton said, sounding slightly disinterested, "He had an off day. It happens. Been there, done that."

Roger shook his head. "Not Jay. You don't know him. The guy's obsessed. He always goes for a run in the morning at like, six o'clock. He never skips that... well, he did a few weeks back when he was sick, but other than that, he's always up early. And yesterday, he skipped class and got a detention for it. I waited for him and he tried to avoid me. He has been avoiding me."

Ms Manson carefully put down her cup, put down her pen and folded her hands. "Roger, that's not very conclusive," she said, "It doesn't mean anything. Believe me, we got rid of that ghost that possessed him in November." She looked briefly at Mr Fenton. "Maybe... he got into a fight. Or maybe he's in trouble with those bullies...?"

Frustration welled up, and Roger bit down an angry remark, knowing from experience that wouldn't make them listen. "No! Nobody bullies Jay!" He raised his hands and then dropped them again. "Not after... well. A few years back, he had a real problem. They wouldn't leave him alone, shoved him into his locker all the time..."

Mr Fenton winced sympathetically.

"... And he got beaten up on a regular basis. So he complained about it to his uncle, and the guy told him that he should either learn how to fight or how to run. The next day, Jay bought a pair of running shoes and a punching bag. Few weeks later, he beat up Larry Higgins and got suspended for it. He has been on his best behavior ever since, and the bullies leave him alone. Only now, he has a reputation. Teachers don't trust him, his uncle seems to think he's a troublemaker... nobody believes him. Or me."

"So you're saying..." Mr Fenton examined the stained table.

"I'm saying something serious is going on and he's back the way he was when the bullying was at its worst. Something or somebody's tormenting him, and I don't think it's Larry and his gang."

"A ghost? But then he would just come to us, right?" Sam asked, "Or he would tell you?"

Roger sighed. "Yes, that is what I don't understand. Why won't he talk to me? He's never stopped talking to me. Something is really really messed up and nobody will listen to me, least of all Jay."

"Have you tried talking to his parents?"

Roger shrugged, staring down at the table. "His uncle. His parents are dead. Died in a fire eight years ago. And he says it's just a stage, and Jay's always been troublesome. Like he's not doing his best to stay out of trouble. And the school counselor thinks he's depressed, and tells me I have to convince him to come see her. Yeah, right."

He looked up, only to see that Ms Manson was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, she was staring down at the piece of paper she had been doodling on. Mr Fenton looked at her too, eyes narrowed.

"Sam?" he asked. She didn't move. "Sam? Have you got something?"

Roger tilted his head so he could see what she was looking at. It seemed to be a list of names, with some text next to them. Ms Manson had doodled in the margins, funny looking ghosts, evil looking eyes, random swirly things. One name, she had encircled, rather forcefully. She looked up, a smile on her face.

Mr Fenton looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Care to share?" he asked.

* * *

Agent K was cold. Very cold. He had tried stamping his feet, blowing his hands and rubbing his arms, but it was no use. The ice cold night air hurt his lungs and already he could feel a cold coming up. He was positive he was going to be miserable before the night was over and he was relieved of his duties.

His watch beeped and he looked down at it, annoyed. It beeped every half hour, and he was supposed to go out and check the perimeter of the building site, but the thought of stepping out of his improvised shelter made him even more miserable. Snowflakes were slowly falling, melting instantly when touching the ground, making the asphalt surrounding the now completely stripped apartment building gleam in the orange light of the streetlights.

It was like rain, but colder.

Sighing – and instantly regretting that sigh, as the surge of cold air in his lungs made him shiver – he stepped out into the snow, holding his flashlight in one hand and the ghost detector in the other. He was convinced there were no ghosts here, that his job of guarding the building site for the new GIW headquarters was futile, but orders were orders. Keep watch. Do your rounds. Report any ghostly activity.

Anything to keep the workers happy so they wouldn't fall behind on schedule. The building was supposed to be finished a year from now, and there was a lot of work to be done. The apartment building was the last to go, set for destruction the next day. The charges had already been set, they only needed the detonators.

Agent K smiled a little at the thought. That would be a spectacular sight, the building collapsing under its own weight after the main supports had been blown away. Immediately after, bulldozers would start clearing the rubble and then the digging could begin. Digging a deep underground facility, with a two-story building on top. It would be top-secret. They would be able to contain over a hundred ghosts in there.

He looked up at the dark shape of the building. All was quiet, nothing moved. He was about to look away and check the gate when something caught his eye.

Something green.

He froze. Slowly, he turned back to the building and studied it intently. The dark shape loomed over him ominously, and suddenly he was all to aware of just how close he was standing to a huge bomb. If a ghost got in there, and somehow managed...

A soft green glow came from a window on the fourth floor. A dark, humanoid shape silhouetted in the window for a moment.

Cursing, Agent K grabbed his communicator. "Central, this is Agent K at the construction site," he said, "Requesting assistance. I have a code three-four-nine."

The operator crackled in his ears, something about backup being on its way and him securing the scene. Muttering to himself, Agent K quickly made for the entrance of the building. Ascending the steps two at the time, he quickly arrived at the fourth floor. Two steps short of getting there, he stopped, raised his arm and pressed the small button on his wrist watch that invoked the surprisingly large cannon. Then, he carefully peeked around the corner.

There was definitely a ghost inside. The green light was very bright here, coming form one of the apartments to the right. He swallowed. Then, slowly, he crept to the top of the stairs and entered the hallway. Trying to keep his breathing under control, he stepped up to the door where the green light came from. It was the same apartment he had gotten a strange reading on his ghost detector a few days before. Odd.

Right before the entrance, he hesitated. Something was in there, something ghostly. Maybe he should wait for backup. But then he heard a scraping sound coming from within the apartment and his curiosity won out. Grabbing a firm hold of his ecto-gun – newest model, he hadn't tried it out yet – he peered into the apartment.

His heart started pounding. In the middle of the blackened room was the most famous and notorious ghost the GIW had ever hunted: Danny Phantom. He was kneeling on the floor, looking down, hands slowly wiping away some dirt, as if he was looking for something. The odd thing was that Phantom didn't seem to notice him.

Agent K couldn't believe his luck. Here he was, right in front of him, and the only thing he needed to do was raise his gun a little and shoot the ghost. Victory would be his, he'd be the hero of the day, maybe he'd even get a promotion out of it...

Mouth dry, he raised the gun and then took an involuntary step to steady himself. The ghost boy seemed oblivious, attention obviously on something else. He started grinning, excitement rising, and his fear. His finger pulled the trigger.

The ghost boy suddenly looked up, eyes refocusing, then widening. With a shout, he threw himself aside, hastily conjuring up a partial shield. Agent K would have hit him straight in the chest had he remained in place. As it was now, he grazed his chest on the left side, causing the ghost to yelp in pain.

The brief satisfaction Agent K found was short lived. Before he could fire another shot, he was suddenly met with two angry green eyes from up close. A cold hand wrenched the gun out of his hand, and then he was unceremoniously shoved against the wall.

"Tell me why I should let you live," the ghost growled.

K tried to control his panic. This was the ghost boy – or, more accurately, ghost man, seeing as that he was almost eye-level with him – and of all the ghost the GIW had hunted the past ten years, this was one of the most powerful. The ghost could probably kill him in several unpleasant and painful ways.

"Backup is underway," he managed to gasp out, "You don't stand a chance."

Phantom smiled. "Oh, yes I do," he said.

The last thing K's mind registered was the pain filled green eyes of the ghost. He felt something enter him, something cold and infinitely creepy, and then his mind simply was pushed aside and he knew nothing.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm sorry. I meant to update sooner, but life got in the way.

**

* * *

chapter 7**

* * *

"Sit still."

"You're hurting me."

"I need to bandage this, you moron. Sit. Still."

Gary watched in silence as his sister tended to the nasty gash on Danny's chest. It was bleeding a little, and even though he was a doctor, he felt slightly sick at the sight of the blackened edges of the wound. The man had obviously been hit with some sort of very hot and very concentrated fire beam. He suspected it to have been an ecto blast, but since he really didn't know the nature of such blasts, he couldn't be sure.

Knowing Danny, however, it probably was.

He was sitting on the couch in Sam's apartment, keeping very quiet and studiously ignoring the fact that _he _was the doctor and Jazz the psychologist, and therefore in any other case but this tending the wound would have fallen to him. They were ignoring him at the moment, and Gary thought they might even have forgotten he was there at all. He was quite comfortable with that. Not in the least because Danny was there and he tended to give Gary the creeps, but also in the hope he might hear something of what his future wife and her brother were hiding from him.

He still wasn't sure what he should think about that.

"What were you thinking, anyway," Jazz was saying, carefully applying antiseptic to the wound and ignoring her brother's complaints, "Going in there on your own. I would think the GIW headquarters is the last place on earth you would want to find yourself caught in."

"_Future_ GIW headquarters," Danny said, "Ouch!"

"Quit whining."

Danny grumbled something inaudible and then looked idly around the apartment. It took him only an instant to notice Gary. Gary shifted in his seat, but kept his gaze steady while Danny stared at him. When the silence became oppressive, Jazz looked up. She scowled.

"_Men_," she said.

She picked up her things, gathered the bloody gauzes laying around and disappeared into the kitchen. Danny leaned back in his chair, chest now neatly wrapped in white bandages. He reached down and retrieved his shirt. Gary cleared his throat.

"So, um," he said, not quite sure he should bring it up again, "You... broke into a GIW facility?"

Danny, about to pull his shirt over his head, paused. For a brief moment, a sneer appeared on his face, but it immediately faded and he just looked tired.

"No. Well, yes, but it isn't a GIW facility just yet, and you can't really call it breaking in if the place has no walls to speak of. It's an old apartment building, they're going to tear it down tomorrow... actually, they're going to blow it up. Maybe I should go watch. Might be spectacular."

Gary furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why? What were you going to find there?"

Jazz reappeared in the door opening. She stood for a moment, watching her fiancee and her brother, but then seemed reassured they were being civil. She disappeared into the kitchen again.

"It used to be the home of a Jonathan Fletcher. He died because a gas tank exploded in his apartment. He was also a jewel thief connected to at least two robberies. He died before they could arrest him."

"So you're thinking it is a ghost that's doing the robbing?"

"Of course it's a ghost. Nobody walks through a wall like that."

"But what about the ghost detectors? You said..."

Danny grinned. For a moment, Gary thought his eyes flashed green. "There are ways around that."

Gary shuddered and opened his mouth to ask another question, when the front door suddenly opened. Sam burst into the apartment, stood for a moment to take in the situation and then marched up to Danny, slamming the door behind her as an afterthought.

"You," she said, "Why is it I can't just have a nice night out without you getting into trouble somehow?"

Only now Gary noticed the sleek black dress under her fur coat. Fake, no doubt. High heels instead of combat boots – although Gary noticed to his amusement the white skull on the heels – and hair put up in a fluffy high pony tail. Some loose strands hung next to her face, purple highlights perfectly symmetrical.

Danny's eyes widened at the sight of her. His eyes quickly traveled over her body, all the way down to her shoes and then up again to her face. Sam started tapping her feat, and Gary thought he saw him cringe.

"I'm fine," he said.

Sam heaved her hands into the air and let them drop again. "You're fine. You're always fine. You got shot, you idiot! Don't you remember the last time that happened with one of their weapons?"

Danny winced. He clearly did, but pursed his lips, shooting a glance at Gary. There was one person who hadn't forgotten he was there, taking everything in, trying to make sense of what he saw and heard. From the corner of his eye, Gary noticed Jazz standing in the doorway.

"I'm fine," Danny repeated stubbornly, "It's a..."

"Scratch." Sam looked up towards the ceiling as if expecting inspiration there. Then she stepped forward and let herself drop on the couch. She looked at Danny. "Did you at least... find something?"

Danny shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Couldn't really tell."

"So you breaking into a GIW facility was a complete waste of time then. Not to mention reckless."

"I wouldn't call it reckless," Danny said, "It was a calculated risk. Besides, there may have been something there. If that stupid agent hadn't shown up when he did, I might have had enough time to... um... detect something specific. Now I only got an impression of past ghostly activity, and not a very strong activity."

There it was again, the hesitation, the looks he was shooting towards his girlfriend and his sister when he was talking about hunting ghosts. Like he was trying to cover up something, something that everybody knew about except Gary. He felt a surge of anger.

"Look," he said, getting up, "I know you're hiding something." He shot Jazz an angry look. "Don't tell me if you don't want to, but stop treating me like a kid. I may be an idiot, but I'm not dumb." He walked to the door, grabbed the handle and opened it. "Talk about whatever you wanna talk about. I don't care. I'm not gonna sit here listening to your roundabout cover ups."

"Wait."

Gary, about to step out of the apartment, turned around in surprise. He had expected somebody to call him back, to try and assure him that he was wrong, that he saw things that weren't there. He hadn't expected it to be Danny.

"Get back in here. I'll try to explain."

Gary hesitated. On the one hand, he was still pissed about being left out in such an obvious way. On the other hand, he would like some sort of explanation. He looked at Danny, who looked back at him, face expressionless. Then he looked at Jazz, still standing in the doorway, motionless, eyes pleading and looking slightly worried. Sam was looking at Danny with a strange look in her eyes. They both seemed to be taking their cue from Danny though, as neither spoke a word.

He stepped back inside, closed the door and sat back down on the couch. "Alright," he said, "Shoot."

Danny was silent for a while, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, head hanging down. Jazz stepped into the room and sat down on the couch next to Gary. Sam crossed her legs and her arms. Suddenly, Danny looked up.

"I'm... a little strange," he said, "I've been living in a house filled with all sorts of... materials. And there was the ghost portal." Gary blinked at the flash of pain in the man's eyes. "I'm not sure how to explain this. I can... sort of... I can sense ghosts." He didn't look Gary in the eyes, instead staring at a point right behind him. "My parents don't know."

Gary waited for him to continue, but nothing more came. Danny actually looked slightly helpless. Sam rolled her eyes, but didn't move. Jazz placed her hand on Gary's arm.

"So," Gary said, "Then you're some sort of... psychic?"

Danny shrugged. "Maybe. Yeah. I guess you could call it that."

Gary looked at his fiancee. "But... you lived in that house too. Does that mean that you...?"

Jazz shook her head. "No," she said, "Just Danny. He sets off the ghost alarm all the time too, at my parent's place, remember?"

Gary nodded, remembering the ear piercing sound of the ghost alarm, Jack's loud shouting and the frighteningly big gun pointed at his head, until Jazz had stepped in and had silently pointed at a smirking Danny. Jack had backed off then, grumbling something about his son not being a ghost, and Maddie had apologized, telling him that she had forgotten to turn the ghost alarm off for Danny.

He turned back to Danny. "So... what really happened with the GIW tonight?" he asked.

"I was in there, trying to sense something," Danny said, "I was so focused on trying to read ghost energies I didn't notice the guy at all until he was almost on top of me."

"And he _shot_ you?" Gary looked at him incredulously. "With an ecto weapon?"

"Not just any weapon," Sam said, "These are enhanced. They burn away ectoplasm, I mean literally burn it away. And..." She shot a glance at Danny. "... They cause nasty burn wounds in ordinary people."

"But why?" Gary asked, "Surely they won't shoot you just for _trespassing_?"

"Sure they would," Danny said, looking annoyed, "They're a trigger happy bunch of schoolgirls. They're so focused on ghosts they see them everywhere. The guy heard something, immediately jumped to the conclusion I must be a ghost so he shot me."

It did make sense. Gary frowned. Something still didn't add up in the story, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He decided to leave it for now. He'd mull it over later in his head.

"How did you get away?" he asked instead.

Danny's eyes unfocused for a moment. Then he frowned and shrugged. "I ran," he said.

* * *

Jay sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. In the living room, he could hear sound of the TV, people talking, music. He was sitting in the dark, fully clothed, wearing a black hoodie, black pants and his running shoes. The curtains were drawn, and the glow from red digits of his alarm clock was just enough to make out the dark shape of the thing laying on his desk, the thing he had retrieved from its hiding place, where it had waited for him for over eight years.

He didn't look at it. It was bad enough that it was just laying there, out in the open. His own act of rebellion. If his uncle walked into his room, he'd see it, and when he did... well...

Jay shuddered. Images floated into his mind, images of blood and death, feelings of cool metal in his hands... so easy. He swallowed. Maybe it would be better if his uncle didn't find it. Slowly, he got up and stiffly walked to the desk, feeling as if he was being moved rather than moving himself. Heart beating unnaturally fast, he picked the thing up, weighed it in his hand for a moment and then stuck it behind his belt in the small of his back, resenting the familiar feeling rising up in him, a feeling of satisfaction tinged with pride.

Pride.

Jay swallowed and closed his eyes. Resistance long gone, he allowed the small smile to creep up onto his face.

* * *

"Seriously Danny, what were you thinking. Telling him you're psychic? Are you insane? The guy's not an idiot, you know, he's gonna know something's up, that something isn't right."

"He knew something wasn't right anyway. He's not blind like my parents."

Silence hung in the vast space of the warehouse. Crates were stacked high, with narrow pathways between them. In the front was the loading bay, several white vans were parked there. It smelled like freshly cut wood. Tucker could see dust particles dancing in the beam of his flashlight.

"So what really happened," he asked.

The half-ghost was floating about an inch above the crate they were hiding behind, giving off the impression he was sitting on top of it. His white hair hung in his face, obscuring his glowing green eyes. The skin tight black hazmat suit with the white logo showed a lean figure, boots and gloves immaculately white. His chest was marred with a glowing green scar though, courtesy of the GIW ecto weapon. Tucker knew it would heal in time, but he could clearly see the wound was causing his friend some discomfort.

Danny tilted his head, allowing the hair in front of his eyes to fall to the side. "Easy. I overshadowed the agent and walked out of there."

The silence after that statement said more than a thousand words. Tucker glanced at Sam, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against yet another crate. They had created a quiet little corner for themselves where they could lay in wait until the rats showed up.

"Danny," Sam finally said, "I thought you didn't do that anymore?"

Her words were hesitant, as if she wasn't quite sure if she should berate him for it or not. Green eyes stared at her, and Tucker wondered yet again if Danny was a different person when he was in his ghost form. He claimed he wasn't. Tucker wasn't so sure.

Suddenly, Danny looked at him, and Tucker couldn't quite suppress the shudder.

"Oh for crying out loud," Danny said, "What was I supposed to do? The guy had shot me, there was no way to get out of there unnoticed and the GIW would have organized a serious ghost-hunt if they'd seen me. And with all the ectoplasm flowing, going invisible would have been pointless as I was dripping all over the place. The only way to get out of there unnoticed was to hitch a ride."

"I haven't seen any news on you having been spotted on the GIW site," Tucker said, feeling his pockets for something to eat.

"That's because I managed to give the agent the impression he had been hallucinating," Danny said, "And he wasn't going to admit that."

Sam's frown deepened. "You messed with him."

"Only a little."

Tucker dug up a half eaten candy bar and took a bite. He realized that they had taken Danny's abilities for granted for a long time now, and that sometimes they forgot just how powerful he was. Ghost hunting as a full human blurred their view even more, since Danny had to keep his more spectacular powers under control. Tucker also realized he hadn't seen Danny in ghost mode for quite a while now, though he was sure the man roamed the town at night, searching for troublesome ghosts.

When he wasn't hunting for rats, that was.

"Come on, Sam," he said, pointing his candy bar to his friend, "It's not like he made him dance like a ballerina or something. He just hitched a ride out of there."

"And messed with his mind," Sam said. She looked at Danny. "Just how often do you do that?"

Danny looked offended. "Hardly ever," he said, "It's not like I go around overshadowing people just for the heck of it. Besides, it's no fun at all."

His eyes got a distant look in them, and suddenly Tucker felt reassured. The expression on his face was so Danny-planning-mischief he almost felt like a fourteen year old again.

"Of course," Danny said, voice dreamy, "I could overshadow that Benedict guy... make him think you're a vampire or something... he'll run screaming. And I could overshadow Gary and have him rethink being married to somebody psychoanalyzing every step you take..."

"You wouldn't!" Sam said. Her eyes were stern, but her mouth curved up.

"No," Danny said, "Exactly my point. I wouldn't. I'm not a ghost, guys, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Sorry, Danny," Tucker said, "Sometimes you give me the creeps."

Danny grinned, but then his grin faded. He looked at his watch.

"Won't be long now," he said, "Let's go over the plan one more time."

"What plan?" Tucker said, "We just catch rats till we drop while you find the portal. Easy peasy."

Danny grumbled something inaudible. Then he looked at Tucker. "By the way, did you find anything today? About that Fletcher guy, I mean?"

Tucker shrugged, examined the last piece of his candy bar and carefully wrapped it again before stuffing it back into his pocket. "Not much. There's an article about the fire, and another follow up article about two weeks later. Nothing about him being a criminal. Sawyer said the police have picked him up a few times for domestic violence, but no charges were ever made. He was never arrested for any connection with the robberies, but they did suspect him. He did time for armed robbery."

Danny sighed. "It has to be him," he said, "This can't be a coincidence."

Suddenly, his eyes grew distant. "Guys?" He pointed at the belts both Tucker and Sam were wearing. "You might want to turn them on now. They take time to get to full power nowadays."

"I know. Quit fussing." Sam checked her specter deflector anyway. "We're ready, Danny. We know how to catch ghosts."

Danny smirked. "Well, you'd better," he said, "Here they come."

In an instant he was up in the air, floating high above the ground. Then he disappeared from sight.

Cursing, Tucker flipped on his specter deflector. Beside him, he heard the low whine coming from Sam's belt, signifying she too had turned the thing on. Gripping his gun tightly, Tucker stepped out from behind the crate.

They were everywhere. One moment, there was nothing, the next, they were swarming the place. The floor between the crates was one moving wiggling sea of glowing green rats, squeaking and running and trying to get ahead of each other. The whole mass came running at the two humans standing in the middle, guns ready. Tucker gripped both his guns tightly, straightened his arms and then started shooting, not bothering to aim properly. Next to him, Sam was operating the thermoses. They quickly fell into a rhythm, Tucker stunning them and Sam sweeping them up, changing thermoses whenever they reached their limit. Danny was out there somewhere, trying to figure out where the glowing green rodents came from.

"Crap," Sam said.

Tucker, panting a little, glanced sideways. Sam was still holding a thermos, but just with one hand. The other was flipping the switch of her specter deflector belt off and on. Clearly, nothing happened. She squeaked when a rat came too close and bit her calf.

"Hold on to me!" Tucker yelled.

Sam, clearly seeing the wisdom of that, wrapped her arms around Tucker's waist, allowing the force field of his specter deflector to extend over her body. Tucker kept shooting at the rats, who were now getting considerably closer. Sam pointed her thermos and swept them up, but they kept coming. There seemed to be an endless supply of rats this time.

"Danny had better find that portal quickly," Sam yelled, "This belt wasn't designed to cover two people, yours will blow any minute now!"

Tucker didn't want to think about what would happen then. He remembered all too well the third night he and Danny had been there. They had been taken by surprise then, thinking they had caught all the rats. Tucker had switched off his belt to conserve energy, when suddenly they had been on top of them. Danny had thrown himself in their way, buying Tucker precious time to switch the belt back on and have it charge up to full power.

The rats came closer. Tucker could see their glowing red eyes, staring at them maliciously when they charged, throwing all caution in the wind. The force field of the belt still protected them, but for how long?

Taking a chance, Tucker glanced down at his belt. Sure enough, a little blinking red light indicated that the thing was using too much power, and its battery was almost gone.

"Hit the panic button," he yelled, "Danny has to come and get us."

He knew Sam hated doing that. She always liked to see herself as capable, independent. Admitting she needed help was something she rarely did. She was always on Danny's case when in her eyes he overstepped his boundaries in his obsession to protect her. They didn't have much of a choice now though.

Sam seemed to reach the same conclusion, because he heard her curse. Tucker could only assume she had tapped the signal on her Fenton phones, three short taps to indicate that they were in trouble, but he wasn't really paying attention to what Sam was doing. He was too busy keeping the rats away, who now had surrounded them and were moving closer – too close for comfort. They stopped about a foot away, looking up at them, waiting.

Waiting for the specter Deflector belt to go.

"OK, Danny," Tucker muttered, "Now would be a good time."

Then he almost jumped, because a familiar, echoing voice spoke into his ear. "Turn it off. I've got you."

Tucker swirled, and only just managed to hold on to Sam. He reached down, looked at the rats a little fearfully and then flipped the switch on the belt. Immediately, he felt the tingling of the force field diminish. The rats charged.

In a flash, Danny had grabbed the both of them and had lifted them into the air, immediately creating a ghost shield around them. The rats jumped after them, impossibly high, but Danny simply shot up through the roof, turning them all intangible at the last possible moment. Once outside, he put them down.

"This is getting ridiculous," he said, "What's with these rats. There's more of them every day, and just now I thought..."

"What?" Sam asked, looking a little shaken.

The ghost shook his head. "I don't know. I thought I heard laughter. Somebody is mocking us." He looked down at the rooftop. "I'd better get down there and clean up."

"Wait," Sam said, "Did yo at least find the portal?"

Danny shook his head. "No time." He looked at her backpack. "What have you got in there?"

Sam reached, and pulled out a ridiculously long GIW rifle. Tucker smiled a little, knowing the barrel was extensible and it was unfolding as she pulled it out. It still looked neat. Danny winced when he saw it, having experienced its effects recently.

"That's a new one. Tucker hasn't modified it yet, so try not to hit me," was all he said, before pulling the both of them through the roof again.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry. Fell asleep while editing last night. But here it is.

**

* * *

Chapter 8**

* * *

Detective Sawyer rubbed his eyes, pinched his nose and then looked down at his list again. There were five names on it, but currently he was looking only at one. The name had been referenced only once in his original list, and the man had died almost eight years before, so initially he had discarded him.

Until Fenton's phone call earlier that evening.

"Fletcher," he had said without preamble, "Look into that name. I think he may be our guy."

Sawyer, in the the process of juggling two steaming cups of coffee and two egg salad sandwiches, had almost let his phone slide out of the precarious hold he was having on it, wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

"What?" he said, edging his way out of the door of the seedy diner, "I thought we discarded him?"

"We think it's him," Fenton said, offering nothing in the way of an explanation, "Can you try and see what else he did? Apart from robbing those jewelry stores?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sawyer said, slowly making his way to his car, where Jake was waiting, "I'm on it. But I'll have to tell my partner, and that inevitably means informing the GIW."

Silence on the other end of the line. Sawyer carefully placed the coffee down on the roof of the car, then grabbed his phone while handing the sandwiches to Jake, who looked at him questionably. Sawyer waved his hand at him, signifying something along the line of 'just a sec'.

"GIW," Fenton said, "But you can't call them now, can you? I mean, they keep office hours, right?"

"There's an alarm number," Sawyer said, "Which I seem to have misplaced. Are you going to be at that warehouse tonight?"

"Yes. We have a plan. But I think you could find out what Fletcher's next target is gonna be. Let me know, and I'll see you there."

With that, Fenton had hung up. Sawyer had stared at his phone for a moment, uncertain whether he should be annoyed at the man or grateful for his help, and then had decided to shrug it off and concentrate on his next task: informing Jake about his little solo-investigation project. It had taken the better part of an hour to not only explain to Jake what he had been up to, but also convince the man that they could at least follow this lead. What finally convinced Jake was the urgency of the case (the next robbery would take place during the next couple of hours), and the effort it would take to explain it all to the GIW.

Which brought them to their current location. Sawyer looked up and stared at the somewhat weathered sign. Sphinx Diamonds and Pearls. The store seemed well protected. Sawyer could see bars in front of the windows, and a little red blinking light coming from within signifying there was an alarm system. Both equally useless against a ghost.

"Are you sure this is it?" Jake asked, looking down at the stack of papers in his lap, "We didn't miss any? What if he did a little job in between, robbed some old lady or something? The guy was a real bastard, after all."

Sawyer shook his head. "I have no idea," he confessed, "This seemed to be the most likely. He always had approximately one month between robberies. If he did the three of last three nights, then this is his most probable next target."

"Hm." Jake's grunt was not very supporting. "What about the one at the mall? They cleaned that place out."

"That wasn't a one man job," Sawyer retorted.

"Hm." Jake remained doubtful. "How did we ever connect him to the robberies in the first place, anyway? He was never arrested for it."

Silence reigned the car once more. They were parked across the street, in between streetlights so they – hopefully – wouldn't be visible. It was two AM already, and they had been sitting there for over an hour. Sawyer would have doubted himself, if it wasn't for the fact that the robbery allegedly committed by Fletcher had taken place at four thirty AM.

"Coincidence," he said, "The man was arrested for domestic violence, and the wife was wearing a necklace which came from one of the robberies. He claimed he bought it from a friend whose name he miraculously couldn't remember. Not enough to hold him on, and the wife didn't press charges so we couldn't keep him. But that's how his name got into the picture. A week later, his house exploded and he and his wife were killed."

"Ah," Jake said.

Sawyer sank down deeper in his seat and buried his chin in the scarf wrapped several times around his neck. The car was freezing cold, his coffee long gone. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Sam slowly climbed down from the stack of crates in the warehouse. It was eerily quiet now, and the sound of her own heavy breathing sounded unnaturally loud. Down on the ground, Danny – kneeling down and in human form – was sorting the thermoses. Tucker was still seated on top of the crates, legs dangling down and waiting for Danny to come and fetch him. He obviously had no desire to slip and drop the fifteen feet to the ground. Sam wasn't that patient.

"Hey," she said, jumping the last three feet, "How are you doing?"

Danny looked up. To her dismay, Sam noticed dark circles under his eyes. He looked bone tired. He smiled at her.

"I'm alright," he said, pushing himself up and wincing. Sam remembered the wound on his chest, now hidden under his shirt and jacket. "How are you?"

Sam looked down at her leg. Some dried blood on her pants, hardly visible on the black fabric. She felt the stinging of the wound, but no longer the blood running down her leg.

"I'm OK," she said. She looked up at Tucker, who was looking at them a little too interested. "You'd better get Mr Matchmaker down too," she said.

Something passed over Danny's face that she couldn't quite place, but it was gone in an instant. He didn't say anything, but simply transformed again, flew up and unceremoniously grabbed Tucker under his arms. Then he dropped down so quickly Tucker might as well have jumped himself, only to slow down at the last possible moment and gently put Tucker next to Sam.

"Hey," Tucker said, "What was that for?"

Danny shrugged and groaned, grabbing the left side of his chest. "I have to stop doing that," he grumbled. At Sam's worried look, he rolled his eyes. "I"m fine. Really. You know me, Mr Bounce Back."

"Not from these things," Sam said, waving her GIW rifle.

Danny made to shrug again, but stopped himself, grimacing instead. "Yeah, well, it'll fade, in time. In the meantime, we'd better hurry up." He looked at his watch. "Sawyer said the robbery would probably take place around four-thirty. Which gives us exactly thirty minutes to get there."

Tucker grinned. "Plenty of time?"

"Nope," Sam said, looking at the thermoses, "These are full. We need to either empty them or get a new one."

"Your apartment," Danny said, "It's closer. You've got a spare, right? I'll get it. You guys head towards that jewelry store."

* * *

"Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out."

It had become a mantra, muttered over and over until the actual meaning of the words had been lost and all that remained was a steady stream of indistinguishable words. Roger certainly was no longer aware he was even talking, or that what he was saying was in stark contrast with what he was doing.

Namely freaking out.

Perched high up on the roof of his apartment building, in the middle of the night in a town that took pride in being the most haunted town in the world, and leaning over the edge to look down at the object of his stake out: The back of Jay's apartment building. More specifically, the fire escape running next to the window of Jay's room.

Roger swallowed and shivered. He had wrapped himself in several blankets, intent on watching over his friend, the whole night if needed, but even so he was getting cold. He had tried to bring his electric heater, to find that the extension cord he had 'borrowed' from his father wasn't long enough. The thing stood abandoned a little over twenty feet away from him. Roger didn't dare taking a break and warming himself though, afraid he would miss his friend when he left.

And he would leave, Roger was sure of that. Everything pointed to Jay being out at night. The previous morning, he had found his friend still in bed, with his shoes on and refusing to wake up. Wet shoes. And it had been raining that night. Footprints had led to his window. It didn't take a genius – fortunately, as Roger's grades were average at best – to figure out that his normally so annoyingly awake friend had business elsewhere. "Keep an eye on him," the ghost hunter, Mr Fenton, had said. So that was what he was doing.

"Jay had better appreciate this," he mumbled, grabbing his blanket and pulling it tighter around him.

He stared at Jay's dark window and let his eyes travel up the fire escape to the roof of the building. Then down at the street. Nothing happened, it was quiet – well, as quiet as a town can get at three in the morning – and he was getting beyond bored. Who knew stakeouts were so tedious? On TV it all looked so exciting. They forgot to mention that keeping an eye on _nothing_ happening was...

He blinked. Had he closed his eyes? For just a moment? Frantically, he freed his arm from under the blanket and looked at his watch. Five past three. Relieved, he sighed and shook his head. The chances of him closing his eyes for a minute just when his friend climbed out of his window were remote, but Roger knew that with his luck, Jay would pick that precise moment to make his move.

He looked down at the fire escape again. Just in time to see a hooded figure descend the last steps and then jump down the last few feet.

Cursing, Roger scrambled out of his blankets, discarding them. Quickly, he ran towards the other end of the roof while fishing his phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial the same time his feet hit the top of the stairs of the fire escape of his building. Gasping, he tried to keep an eye on Jay as he walked down the street below.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," he muttered.

Jay kept walking, but paused when he passed directly beneath the fire escape Roger was on. Roger pressed himself against the wall and held his breath. Jay looked up.

Roger could swear he stared right into his friend's eyes, and later he would tell his friend that they seemed like red eyes, but somehow he stared right past him, unable to see him in the dark shadow of the building. He looked away and resumed walking, head down once more.

"Hello?" Roger whispered, "Sir? Mr Fenton, sir? Oh.... hi, Ms Manson... He just left... no, I'm not staying put. I'm gonna see where he's going... no... no... hanging up now... bye."

He cut off a stream of words coming from Mr Fenton's associate by simply disconnecting. Stuffing his phone into his pocket, he quickly let himself drop from the last steps of the ladder – hitting the ground heavily, trying to roll in one fluid motion and then back on his feet, but failing because there was a trashcan in the way – and scurried out of the alley. He caught a glimpse of the hooded figure rounding a corner. Cursing, he started to run.

Jay really, _really,_ had better appreciate this.

* * *

The chill in the room was what woke him. He had always been kind of picky, had always hated cold and in fact liked to wrap himself in blankets, stealing Jazz' in the process while sleeping. He didn't have any blankets now though, as he groggily realized while grappling around for them. In fact, he wasn't even properly laying down, but rather half leaning back on a couch of sorts. His right arm was sleeping because something heavy and hairy was leaning against it. Heavy and hairy and warm.

Jazz.

He almost smiled, vaguely remembering her snuggling up against him on the couch in Sam's apartment, muttering something about waiting for Danny and Sam to return from their 'rat catching'. Then he frowned. In that half sleep-half-awake state, something tickled his mind, but the moment he tried to focus on it, it was gone. Rat catching. Something with rats. It meant something.

Shaking his head in frustration, he opened his eyes. To stare right into two bright glowing green ones, not three feet from his face.

Gary almost screamed. In fact, he already had his mouth open, when he saw the ghost put his finger on his lips, and then gesture at the warm body leaning against him: Jazz. Don't wake Jazz. Slowly, Gary started shaking his head, mouth still open. His mind was still reeling, but the one sensible thought – don't wake Jazz – kept him from actually making a sound. The ghost – floating, Gary's mind dimly registered, right in front of him, legs crossed, messy white hair forever in danger of falling into his eyes – leaned forward, bringing his face so close to Gary's that the first thing that left Gary's mouth was, "Whoa. P-p-personal space."

The ghost – Phantom, a logical, analytical part of Gary's mind supplied – moved back a little and tilted his head. His green eyes held a suspicious glint, and Gary started to worry. He didn't have any ghost weaponry, and even if he had, the night before had taught him that he wasn't a very skilled ghost hunter.

Why did the ghost not want to wake Jazz?

He closed his mouth. The ghost smirked at him.

"What are you doing here?" Gary asked. If he hadn't been whispering, his voice would have squeaked.

"Nothing much," the ghost answered. His voice sounded hollow and echoing, as coming from very far away. "Just visiting."

Gary swallowed and glanced at his fiancee, still peacefully sleeping in his arms. "W-w-why are you watching us?" he managed to get out.

The ghost didn't say anything. Instead, his eyes slid to the sleeping woman. Gary felt himself chill to the bone. What did the ghost want with Jazz? Why was he watching her like that, face expressionless, eyes unreadable? What was Jazz' secret?

Gary blinked at the sudden turn his thoughts had taken, but decided not to dwell on it. He was scared out of his mind anyway. If he was going to die, he might as well ask.

"What's her secret?" he asked, "You know, don't you. What are Jazz and Danny hiding?"

Phantom's eyes flashed. "Secret...," he said, "There's no secret. You're imagining things." Suddenly, he moved in very close. Gary felt a cold hand grab his collar. He swallowed, trying to focus on the swirling green irises of the ghost. Little electric currents ran over his arms, giving him goosebumps.

"Are you going to look after her?" Phantom asked.

Gary shivered from the ghost's cold breath in his face. He tried to nod, but found that hard to do with his movement severely restricted by the ghost's hand.

"Of course I am," he ground out, "The both of them."

Phantom stared at him. Then, he let go of Gary's collar and backed away a little, no longer paying any attention go Gary. He moved closer to Jazz, stuck out his hand and let his finger caress her forehead. Gary tightened his grip around her, but he knew there wasn't much he could do to prevent whatever the ghost wanted to do to her. Phantom withdrew. Gary let out a sigh of relief.

"Of course," the ghost whispered, "Why didn't I see?"

He hung in the middle of the room for a bit longer, staring into the distance with unseeing eyes. Then, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

It took Gary a few seconds before he remembered he needed to breathe.

* * *

Jay pulled his hood further over his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets once more. It was cold, and he could see his breath, leaving his mouth in short bursts. He ducked deeper into the shadows and peered around the corner of the alley once more. At four thirty AM, the street was deserted. A few cars were parked across the street and a stray dog was sniffing something near a trashcan, but otherwise nothing moved.

_Perfect_.

He no longer tried to separate the alien thoughts in his mind from his own, no longer tried to distinguish himself from the other inside of him, no longer resisted when his feet moved of their own accord. He slid out of the alley he had been hiding in and quickly crossed the street. He was very aware of the heavy piece of metal pressing against his back, but as it didn't impair his movement, he left it where it was.

_We'll need it later._

Jay swallowed. A protest welled up in him, and he was halfway opening his mouth to voice his concern when he felt his face contort in an unfriendly sneer. His mouth snapped shut. For a moment, he lost his vision as the ghost completely took over, and when he finally was allowed to see again he was standing right in front of the back entrance of the jewelry store. It was a sturdy, but slightly weathered wooden door with the paint peeling off, bars in front of the small window and steel plates and three keyholes, signifying three locks. This would keep out – or at least delay – any thief. But not him. Cold washed over him and he stepped forward, easily passing through the door.

Inside, it was dark. He was in some sort of back room, a storage area really. In the dim light, he could see dark square shapes, signifying boxes. The air was stale and dusty, and he could definitely smell wet carpet. Probably a leaky roof somewhere.

Something cold inside of him nudged him on, and he tentatively stepped forward, going intangible again when he reached the door on the other side of the room. Phasing through it brought him right into the shop. As usual, a wave of familiarity washed over him. He had been here before, he had stalked through this store in the darkness before. Images flashed before him, and again his right hand slid to the small of his back, where he had carelessly stuck his weapon.

"I don't want to," Jay managed to think. He willed the hand back to its place by his side. Both to take his mind of the disapproving ghost and to distract him from inflicting any unpleasantness, he stepped forward and peered into the show cases. Diamonds glittered at him in the scant light shining through the barred front windows.

His ruse worked, because the ghost immediately forgot his previous discontentment with Jay and instead stared gleefully through the boy's eyes. Jay felt himself put down his bag on the floor, and then easily reach through the glass to snatch the expensive jewelry inside. Within minutes, he had cleared three showcases. As minutes progressed though, he got more and more anxious, keeping a nervous eye on the door.

Any minute now, the owner would burst through that door and catch him, and he'd have to draw his gun and...

Somewhere deep inside, Jay moaned. This wasn't happening, this wasn't going to happen, yet he clearly _remembered_ it happening. The ghost didn't seem to realize that that was no guarantee that it would happen again, but the image was so strong Jay felt sick.

_Don't be such a wuss._

Jay shook his head, and forced his eyes back on the now almost empty showcase in front of him. "It won't happen again," he thought, for the benefit of the ghost, "Let's just go."

He zipped up the bag, slung it over his shoulder and moved back to the back door, ignoring the ghost's confusion. The owner hadn't woken up this time, hadn't come down to disturb the burglar in his shop. He was in the clear.

Relieved, Jay phased into the storage room and then back into the alley behind the store again. Once more, he had done it, he had successfully robbed another jewelry store. He stood for a moment, reveling in the feeling of triumph he knew came from the ghost. Cold air filled his lungs as he took a deep breath. Then he turned to walk away, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Outlined against the light coming from the end of the alley, was a man. Jay couldn't make out his face, only that he wore dark clothes, had messy dark hair and had his pants tucked into combat boots. His hands were empty. Something metal glimmered on his body, but he couldn't make out what it was.

Jay's hands moved. His left hand grabbed hold of the bag slung over his shoulder, securing it by tightly gripping the hinges. His right moved behind his back, retrieved the gun and pointed it at the man.

_Shoot_.

"No!" he hissed.

His hand shook as he struggled for control. The man at the end of the alley started walking towards him.

"Go away!" Jay thought.

He wanted to shout at the man, but he no longer had control over his vocal cords. In fact, he felt all control slipping away from him and he shuddered at the menacing presence that promised him punishment later on.

Hand rock steady now, the ghost carefully took aim. The man stopped walking and slowly raised his hands, as if to placate the thief.

He pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N:

**

* * *

Chapter 9**

* * *

"It's a good plan, Sam, it'll work. Nobody has to get hurt his way, and we'll free the boy without causing him any further harm," Danny said, peering around the corner of the alley they had taken up position in.

Sam looked at her friend who was standing with his back against the wall, obviously trying to stay out of sight while still keeping an eye on the jewelry store across the street. On any other occasion, the half ghost would have just gone invisible and simply stood right in front of the store or whatever other place would be convenient, but the fact that the they were standing in plain view of the black Crown Victoria of detective Sawyer prevented him from using any of his ghost powers.

Danny frowned in annoyance at the car, then looked at his watch. "Four twenty-five," he muttered, "Still nothing."

Sam, seated on the ground next to a trashcan and ignoring the dirt and the grime in the alley, made no attempt at trying to see what was going on out in the street. The street was well taken care of in the observation department by the two detectives in the car and the grumbling Danny.

"Detective Sawyer said the break in occurred around half past four," she said reasonably, "If this is the one, he'll show up." She shifted a little. "It _is_ a good plan, Danny, with the way the ghost has integrated into the boy this is probably the best option, I just think _I_ should be the one..."

"No."

Tucker, standing next to Danny and holding the bag with, as he called it, ghost hunting goodies, seemed to agree with Danny's flat out refusal, because he nodded. Sam felt the anger rise again and tried to suppress it, knowing that now wasn't time time or the place to start a discussion on women's emancipation.

"Danny," Tucker said, "Not that I don't agree with you..." He winced when he caught sight of Sam's glare, "But seriously, you should let one of us..."

"Which part of 'no' don't you get? Sawyer said the guy who robbed the store had a gun that night, that he threatened the owner of the store with it. I'm not gonna risk one of you getting shot and that's final."

"No because _you_ getting shot is _so_ much better," Sam muttered.

"I'm not getting myself shot."

"This is the guy that stabbed you, remember?"

Danny winced. His hand moved to his left arm and he rubbed it. "I was slow, then," he said, "It won't happen again."

"You," Sam said, pushing her feet into the dirt and working herself up against the wall, "Have a serious hero complex."

Danny said nothing, but his eyes flashed green, showing his annoyance. He held out his hand to Tucker, who wordlessly unbuckled his specter deflector and handed it to Danny.

"Do you have any idea what you're getting into?" He asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Danny said.

Something in his tone made Sam look up at him sharply, but he had already turned away from her to peek around the corner once more. She glanced at Tucker instead, to ensure he had heard it too, but the techno-geek seemed oblivious, engrossed in something that showed on his PDA. She frowned, then retrieved her cell phone out one of her many pockets. She had long ago learned that cargo pants were the way to go when ghost hunting, because it allowed her to carry a great number of useful items on her person instead of in a purse.

"Haven't heard from Roger," she muttered.

At that precise moment, her phone buzzed. She almost dropped it, but then quickly pressed the green button.

"Yes, Roger," she whispered, taking note of the fact that both Tucker and Danny were watching her now.

"I'm... I think we've arrived somewhere," came Roger's whispered reply, "He's... just standing there, watching... no... he's moving. He's crossing the street. Gotta go."

"No, wait," Sam whispered loudly, "Roger...?"

At the same moment Danny, who apparently had gone back to watching the street again, raised his hand. "Here he comes," he said softly.

"Damn it Roger," Sam muttered, closing her phone, "Why won't you listen?"

Somebody next to her snorted, but when she looked at her partners, they were both looking seriously into the direction they had seen the boy cross the street moments before. Sam stepped next to them. The black Crown Victoria's window rolled down. Across the street, another, shorter, figure crossed, obviously trying his best to be sneaky and failing. Danny stepped forward, apparently not caring that he was now in plain view of anybody that cared to look his way, and leaned forward to speak to Sawyer.

"Change of plans," he said, "Stay here. We'll catch the ghost. Tucker?" He turned around and looked up at his friend. "You come with us, grab Roger and take him back here." He turned back to the detectives in the car. "Do not, I repeat, _do not_ approach. Let only Sam and me get within range of the... thing."

"Now wait a minute." From the passenger seat, Jake Tannenbaum leaned over to look up at the ghost hunters, "This guy probably has a gun, if I'm to go with the whole 'ghost on a quest' thing. That means you'll need some sort of protection, you can't just walk in there and..."

"Yes we can," Danny said, "I don't want you to shoot an innocent boy."

"What if he shoots you?" Sawyer asked, "Are you willing to take that risk?" He glanced at Sam. "Or her?"

Sam wanted to stamp her feet, but kept her cool. She could protect herself just fine, why couldn't they see that? And besides, she would...

"She'll stay out of sight," Danny said coolly, "I'm the one taking a risk here. No way I'm gonna take a chance with her." He pointedly ignored Sam's glare. "Now please, please don't come any closer. You'll ruin everything if you do. We'll get him, I promise."

When he wanted to be, Danny could be very convincing. In any other area but ghost hunting, people generally ignored him, but when it came to catching ghosts he knew what he was talking about, and it showed. He demanded authority, and he got it. Sam could literally see the detective's train of thought, torn between a general need to protect citizens from harm and the conviction that what they were dealing with wasn't anything he could do something about.

"We should have called the GIW," Jake Tannenbaum grumbled, looking discontented.

Sawyer waved at him and the detective sat up straight, crossed his arms and glared out of the windscreen. Sam smirked at him, suppressing as usual a pang of fear. Danny seemed completely unperturbed by the remark, but Sam generally liked the white-clad guys as far away from him as possible. She could never shake the feeling that one day they'd get lucky and capture their most prized target. And when that happened... she shuddered.

"Alright," Sawyer said, "We'll do it your way."

Danny nodded. "Remember. Do. Not. Approach. Whatever you see or hear." He hesitated. "Not ever gunfire," he added.

Before Sam could say something, he took off, crossing the street in a slow jog, forcing his friends to run after him. Furious, Sam followed him. He didn't give her a chance to voice her opinion on that last remark though. He didn't stop at the entrance of the alley both Jay and Roger had entered a few minutes ago, but charged right in. Tucker, panting heavily now, ran close to Sam. She glanced at him once, noting the bouncing backpack on his back.

He looked back at her. "The things I do," he grumbled.

Sam wanted to smile, but they were already there. Danny stopped, looked around in that eerie way of his where she knew he was accessing his ghost powers to find somebody – sensing their emotions – and then quickly stepped behind a dumpster. He bent forward, grabbed something and retrieved a protesting and struggling Roger.

"Hush," Danny said. He beckoned Tucker, who quickly grabbed the boy's other arm. "Listen," Danny said, "You really have to get out of here."

"No!" Roger started struggling again, "He's my friend! It's not his fault!"

Danny grabbed both his arms and shook him. "Stop!" he whispered, so loudly he might as well have shouted, "We know, alright? He's possessed by a ghost. We'll free him, I promise, but you have to get out of here _now_!"

"You know?"

Roger stopped struggling. Danny and Tucker each took an arm and dragged the boy away. Sam watched them go. Danny looked over his shoulder and mouthed something. She didn't quite get what he was saying, but she didn't have to. She nodded, and then retreated behind the dumpster Roger had been hiding behind moments before. Danny, Tucker and Roger disappeared around the corner. Not a moment too soon.

Through the back door of the jewelry store, a hooded figure phased into the alley.

* * *

Detective Sawyer gripped the wheel tightly, trying to ignore the fidgeting of his partner. He didn't like it one bit that the tree civilians were going in there to solve a crime, something that was basically his job. He frowned, then glanced at Jake, who chose that moment to look at him.

"What if...," he said.

"What if something happens to them," Sawyer finished.

"We'll look like idiots," Jake said.

Sawyer hesitated. "This is a ghost situation," he said.

"For which we should have called the GIW, not a bunch of cowboys," Jake said. He grabbed the door handle. "I'm going out there."

The door swung open, and he was just about to climb out, when Sawyer called him back. "No, wait. Look."

Sawyer pointed at the three figures appearing at the entrance of the alley. Two men holding a boy between them. Roger Cully, Sawyer assumed. They stopped in front of the store, seemed to confer for a moment and then one of them stepped back while the other two continued towards the waiting detectives. Sawyer got out of the car as well.

"Mr Sawyer, Mr Tannenbaum," Foley said.

Sawyer saw him having a tight grip on the boy's arm. The boy seemed reluctant, but obedient.

"This is Roger Cully," Foley continued. He was about to say more, when suddenly a shot rang out.

They all turned and looked at the entrance of the alley. For a moment, they just stood there, frozen on the spot. Then they moved, as one, Jake grappling for his gun, Sawyer doing the same and Foley grabbing the both of them by their arms, trying to hold them back.

"No, no!" he shouted, "No interference, didn't you hear him?"

Sawyer stopped and turned. Jake was not so easily stopped though, and he took a few more steps.

"Hold on, Jake. Stop!" Sawyer shouted.

Jake stopped too. Sawyer turned to Foley and studied him. The man looked both grim and scared. Sawyer could have sworn he was pale under his dark skin. Roger was still standing by the car, face ashen.

"Listen," Foley said, "We're catching a ghost that is a master in overshadowing. You seriously don't want to get near him."

"But..." Jake protested, waving his gun and looking momentarily at the alley.

"What about Mr Fenton and Ms Manson?" Sawyer asked.

Foley pursed his lips. He seemed confident, but Sawyer detected a strong undercurrent of worry in the man. "They know what they're doing. They've got protection against that."

Standing in the middle of the street, their breath clearly visible coming out of their mouths, they stared at the entrance of the alley, which now seemed ominously dark. Nothing moved, no sound came out.

"What do we do?" Sawyer whispered.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: I'm sorry, I was supposed to update this week and I sort of forgot/got lazy/was busy (fill in whatever excuse you like the most or think is the most likely).

**

* * *

Chapter 10**

* * *

Jay gaped at the man still standing in front of him, ears still ringing from the shot he had just fired. He had never fired a gun before – well, he had, but that was the ghost inside of him – but he was sure he should have hit his mark dead on from this distance. There was no way he could have missed... yet the man was still standing there, looking at him.

"D-d-don't move," Jay stuttered, wincing at the mental slap he received for his unconvincing threat.

The man pointedly ignored him by taking a step forward. "Jay," he said softly, "Is that you?"

"Y-y-yeah," Jay said.

Now that the man was closer, he thought he recognized him as the ghost hunter who he had helped get rid of the ghost at the school. Fenton, his name was. Jay scrunched his eyes. For a moment, he thought he looked right through him, at the trashcans and the wall behind him. The shadowy figure seemed to shimmer for a moment, but then it was gone and the man was just standing there.

"Do you really want to shoot me, Jay?" Fenton asked.

Jay started to shake his head, but immediately the ghost took over again, and he sneered at the man instead. To his horror, he felt his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Try me," his mouth said.

Fenton nodded. "Ah," he said, never giving any indication he was aware of the fact that there was a gun pointed at his chest, "Jonathan Fletcher, I presume."

Jay's head nodded. "Clever," he said, "How did you figure that out?"

Fenton shrugged. "Pretty easy, really. You're sloppy. There were cameras in the stores, they recorded you phasing through stuff. No human does that, so you had to be a ghost. A bit of research did the rest."

Jay nodded. "Yes, well," he said, "Too bad it will be the last thing you found out, Ghost Hunter."

Fenton shrugged. "Maybe," he said. He looked pointedly at the bag Jay was still holding. "Are you really sure you want to use your son like this?"

Jay wanted to shake his head, wanted to shout, but at the same time tried to warn his father, tried to get him to simply turn around and leave, together, because he knew the ghost hunter was up to something. There had to be a reason he appeared here, seemingly unarmed. No way he just meant to chat.

_Shut it, boy._

Jay mentally cringed. "Please, leave," he thought, "Please please leave, just shoot him if you really want to but let's just leave... Dad? Please?"

"I am teaching him, training him to be the best," Jay's mouth said.

"OK," Fenton said. Again, he looked at the bag. "And is it working? Is he listening to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Fenton said slowly, "Seems to me... this is all rather pointless. Look at you. Skulking in the night, repeating the things you've done before... seems to me, you could be moving on to bigger, better things."

Jay... no, the ghost of his father pondered that. "Yes," he said slowly, "Bigger things. Better things." He looked down at the bag he was holding, and then just let it drop to the ground.

"I mean, why bother with a lowly little jewelry store," Fenton continued, seemingly oblivious of the thoughts that now ran through Jay's mind, "That's just stupid. You just got caught on your fourth heist, I mean, how stupid is that? You're predictable."

Jay let out a growl.

"Of course," Fenton continued, "You won't really get anywhere in this boy. I mean, look at him. What is he ever going to accomplish? I mean, he's probably protesting and whining the whole way... I bet you had to take measures to keep him in line?"

"No," Jay whimpered, but it never reached his mouth. Instead, he felt himself being pushed back further. "Dad," he chocked, "I can't breathe..."

"You're a fool... Fenton," the ghost growled, "You're a ghost hunter... you have access... and you're way too close!"

Something shifted. The presence that had been so close, had flowed through his veins, had been with him, protected him, had given him incredible power, suddenly tore away from him, flowed out from him. Something that had nested inside his brain started to loosen itself, and he felt himself tear apart, felt himself himself being split in two. For a moment, he struggled to keep himself together, incoherently begging and pleading for his father not to leave him, but at the same time he pushed the other away, trying to untangle the mess inside his head. Jay's knees buckled. Before he knew it he was on his knees. Vision returned to his eyes, and he blinked.

"No!" he cried.

It happened in an instant. The green mist in front of him briefly took form, a familiar face, yet alien. Never had his father looked at him that way, this was not how he remembered him. He could feel the ghost's contempt, his disappointment, so clearly that it seemed as thought they still were one being.

But they weren't.

"No," he said, hating his voice. It sounded like he was begging. "Dad... don't leave me!" He _was_ begging.

Fenton stepped back, seemingly in shock. Frantically, he looked around in the alley, trying, Jay assumed, to find a way out. But Jay knew he'd never make it, there was no way you could outrun a ghost.

The green ghost jumped forward and entered the ghost hunter's body in a flash.

For a moment, all went quiet, and everything seemed normal. Then, suddenly, the ghost hunter's eyes flashed a brilliant green, and he started struggling. Jay crawled backwards, both fascinated and scared out of his mind. In front of him, Fenton staggered, hands groping aimlessly at his jacket, his chest, down to his odd belt...

Out of nowhere, two slim hands slid around his waist. He yelped in surprise and tried to tear himself loose and roll away, but before he could move the strange, shiny belt with two blinking lights on it clicked into place. One hand flipped a switch, and a soft whine indicated the thing was turned on.

"W-what?" Jay stammered. He looked down at the belt, then up at the person who had put it on him, now standing over him. "Ms Manson?" he said, "What...?"

"Don't touch it," the dark clad woman said, "Leave it. It'll protect you from..." She nodded at the struggling form in front of them. "The ghost can't overshadow you any longer."

Completely off balance, and not knowing what to do next, Jay clambered back up on his feet and then just kept standing there, watching. Only now did he see the same belt on the woman and the ghost hunter. The woman's belt clearly was turned on as well, but Fenton's belt seemed dead. Jay noticed the man's hands were trying to get to it though, but the fight with the ghost inside of him was taking all of his strength, and he didn't manage.

"Sam," Fenton ground out, "A little help here...?"

Ms Manson jumped forward, but before she could reach the ghost, his hand suddenly lashed out and hit her square in the face. She fell on the ground with a grunt, rolled and immediately jumped up again, jumping into a fighting stance, but keeping her distance.

"Danny," she said, "Fight it."

"He can't," Jay said, "You can't fight it."

"Of course he can, he does it all the time!" She glared at Fenton. "Damn it, Danny, _fight_!"

She approached him, then suddenly lashed out, one hand slapping away the wild sweep he made at her, the other desperately groping for the switch on his belt. As she touched him, however, something strange happened. Blue sparks rained down on the ground, and Fenton let out a scream. But before she could reach his belt, he grabbed her arm and pushed her back, ignoring the increasing bolts of lightening traveling up his arm.

Only now Jay came out of his stupor. He jumped forward, easily reached between the two struggling ghost hunters, found the switch and turned the belt on. The effect was immediate.

Fenton howled, the ghost howled, and then a green mist started to emit from Fenton's skin, swirling around him and collecting itself in the middle of the alley, hovering, boiling, finally taking form. The face of his father appeared, contorted in rage. He turned around towards Jay, who stumbled backwards.

"You worthless piece of shit!" the ghost screamed, "Traitor! You are just like her, you're weak and pathetic! You're nothing to me, you hear, nothing! You're not my son!'

He jumped forward and Jay took another step back in fear. The ghost had nowhere to go though. Jay watched as Ms Manson held out a strange soup thermos with a small blinking green light on it. She pressed a button, and a blue vortex appeared, immediately sucking in the ghost. All went quiet.

Jay let out the breath he had been holding. Ms Manson jumped to Mr Fenton, who had crumpled on the ground and curled into a ball, legs twitching. Jay blinked. Small blue bursts of lighting were traveling over his entire body, as if...

Ms Manson pried the arms he had wrapped around himself loose and turned the belt off, then quickly jumped back and turned her own belt off. Mr Fenton slowly relaxed, gasping for air.

"Are you alright?" Ms Manson asked, "Sorry, stupid question. Come on." She grabbed him by his shoulders and tried to get him up, but found herself on her butt instead. She looked up at Jay. "Could you give me a hand, please?"

Jay jumped forward, glad to be of service, but as soon as he touched the ghost hunter, the man let out a scream and jerked violently away from him. Jay stumbled backwards, confused.

"Turn your belt off," Ms Manson said, "He... still has... residual ghost... ectoplasm inside of him. It hurts."

Jay wanted to ask if that were true, then why didn't he suffer from the same thing, but he didn't. Instead, he simply flipped the switch on his belt, instantly feeling vulnerable. He looked around the alley nervously.

"Don't worry, the ghost can't escape from this," Ms Manson said, holding up the thermos.

Jay swallowed thickly. Cold air brushed against his neck and he swirled, but there was nothing there. Heart pounding, he turned back towards Ms Manson, who was looking up at him with an impatient expression on her face.

"You know that wasn't really your father, don't you?" she asked. Her expression softened. "I know it can be confusing, but he is a ghost. Ghosts are remnants. They're not the actual person that used to be."

Jay still didn't move. "W-why?" he asked finally, "Why me?"

Ms Manson frowned. "I guess you're unlucky," she said. She looked down at the unmoving form on the ground, now with his head in her lap, and then looked back up at Jay again. "Come on, help me get him out of here."

Finally finding his feet again, Jay nodded. Slowly, he crept forward and gingerly touched Mr Fenton's arm, but the man didn't seem to notice this time, engrossed as he seemed to be in simply breathing. Ms Manson nodded at him, and silently mouthed 'on three' to him. Then she bent forward and brought her mouth close to Mr Fenton's ear.

"Danny. Can you hear me?"

Fenton nodded.

"We're gonna lift you up, OK?"

He nodded again, and Mr Manson looked up at Jay. When the whispered three left her mouth, they both easily lifted the ghost hunter up. Jay struggled a little, and then managed to drape the man's arm over his shoulder. On the other side, Ms Manson did the same, and then they dragged the half-conscious man towards the exit of the alley.

* * *

"You know, you're a moron," Jazz said, restlessly pacing the rather confined space between the desks at the police station.

She looked down at her brother, slouched in the rickety desk chair that normally held Detective Sawyers sightly overweight form. He still looked deathly pale and still seemed to have difficulty breathing, but she knew that whatever damage had been done would heal relatively quickly on its own, if not as fast as if he had been in full ghost mode when it happened.

Accelerated healing seemed primarily to be a specific ghostly ability.

She briefly looked outside, where the night slowly faded into yet another dreary day. She sighed, pushing back a stray strand of hair that had escaped her haphazard pony tail. She looked frizzled and half awake, and she hated every minute of it. Not to mention she felt slightly sick.

"Gee, thanks," Danny said, "Always happy with the support I'm getting from my family."

"She's right," Sam said, perched on the edge of the desk. She was studying the various items on it, poking in the jar containing a various assortment of dried pens, pencils, paperclips and elastic bands.

Jazz looked at her brother. He looked hurt. He also looked sick.

"Danny, go home and get some rest," she said tiredly.

He shook his head. "Can't," he said nodding towards the room with the closed blinds in front of the window, "Got to keep an eye on him."

Jazz followed his gaze and watched the shadows of the two bulky GIW move around the room. Out of sight, seated at the table of the room which detective Sawyer specifically had said was _not_ an interrogation room, was the miserable form of Jay Fletcher.

Who was in big, big trouble.

"We had to give them the thermos, you know," Jazz said, knowing in which direction her brother's thoughts went, "It would have been very suspicious if we hadn't. They'd have accused you of protecting ghosts, and you can't afford that."

"Yeah, well," Danny said, wiping a tired hand over his forehead, "Who knows what they're gonna do to him."

Jazz had the distinct impression he wasn't talking about the boy. "And besides," she continued, not giving off any indication she had heard her brother, "If we want to prove it wasn't Jay that did all those things, but the ghost of his father overshadowing him, he could be put away for a long time."

The expression on Danny's face didn't change. Jazz glanced around, to find a sleepy looking Gary hovering close by. She sighed. She loved him, she was glad he came with her when Sam had called at five AM, but he severely hampered her ability to really talk to Danny.

Some commotion on the other end of the room made her look up. Somebody else had arrived, as disheveled looking as the rest of them, talking and gesturing urgently at detective Sawyer who had been hovering close to the interrogation room. Jazz remembered something about an uncle, and indeed it didn't take the man long before he was admitted to the room where his nephew was being questioned.

Good for him, Jazz thought. Quietly, she surveyed the other occupants of the room at this early hour. Tucker, leaning against yet another cluttered desk, his back brushing against a monitor which wobbled precariously every now and then. He looked tired and worried, and he was mostly watching his half-ghost friend with a frown on his face.

Sam, sitting on top of the desk, elbows on her knees and head hanging down. Earlier, she too had looked tired, but Jazz couldn't see her face now, so she couldn't tell what she was thinking. Not that she ever knew what the woman was thinking.

Gary, confused, suspicious, looking around the police station, eyes wandering, never settling on anything but every now and then glancing at her. He had told her about Danny's visit in the middle of the night, and how it had freaked him out.

Detective Tannenbaum, sitting at a desk in the corner, furiously typing something on his computer. Earlier, he had been taking Roger Cully's statement, but the boy had been picked up by his worried parents half an hour ago. Jazz had the impression the boy would have a lot of explaining to do too.

Hovering close to the room Jay Fletcher, now with the support of his uncle, was being interrogated by the GIW was detective Sawyer. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, clearly asking something. She couldn't make out what it was he wanted though, so she looked away again, and shifted her gaze to her brother.

Who was staring at her, eyes unblinking. She shuddered, but didn't avert her gaze. Finally, he sighed, closed his eyes for a moment and then gave her a half-smile.

"So," he said, "When were you gonna tell me?"

It didn't take a genius like Jazz to figure out what he was talking about. Subconsciously, her hand went to her stomach. She looked at him and shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, "I was trying to find the right moment."

He let out a short laugh. "Right," he said.

She frowned at him, then briefly glanced at Gary, who had a surprised look on his face. She winced. Danny should be more careful with separating his alter egos.

"I'm sorry, Danny," she said, "You've been so... I wasn't going to keep it from you, you know. I just wanted... I didn't want to upset you."

Danny averted his eyes. "Yeah," he said, "I'm sorry."

Jazz blinked. Sam lifted her head and looked at her friend. Tucker stopped leaning against the monitor on the desk, thereby preventing it from dropping to the floor. Gary stopped looking anywhere but at his future brother-in-law and fixed his gaze on him.

"What?" Danny said, "A guy can't apologize?"

"Y-yeah," Tucker said, "But..."

"Look, I know I've let my..." He glanced at Gary. "... _Overprotective_ side take over." He leaned forward a little and stared at Gary intently. "You... seem to be alright."

Jazz felt dizzy. A jumbled mixture of emotions washed over her, and she sat down on one of the chairs with a thump. Relief was one of them, pride, happiness. Everything was going to be alright, they were getting along, they were going to be a normal family after all without the tension of family gatherings – or as normal as their family could get anyway. She looked at Gary again, who was now smiling. Lines of tension around his mouth were still there though, as if he didn't fully trust Danny but was willing to go along with it for now.

"Well," Sam said, breaking the silence, "That's that." She looked at the clock on the wall. "Tucker, don't you have to be at work in, like, an hour?" she asked.

Tucker, who had been aimlessly staring at the floor, hands in his pockets, jerked up, almost knocking the heavy monitor from the desk. He followed her gaze and started muttering something unintelligible. Then he slumped again and looked morosely at Danny.

"And we're on again tonight, aren't we," he said, "It's my turn again."

"What?" Jazz said, suddenly returning from her high, "You're going out again tonight? Those rats? Danny, you're in no shape to do anything..."

Danny leaned forward, put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, groaning. He looked as if every muscle in his body hurt. "Yeah, well," he said, "I'm gonna have to. Or we'll lose the job."

"Screw the job," Sam said, "I'll go, with Tucker..."

"The hell you are," Danny said immediately, "If I hadn't been there tonight..."

Sam pursed her lips and looked angry. Danny had an impatient look on his face, and seemed ready to take Sam head-on, but Sam backed down and looked away. Jazz wondered what had happened, but decided that now was not the time to ask.

"At least take some rest," she said, "You look completely worn out."

She studied him, scrutinizing the lines in his pale face, the too bright eyes, the way he held himself up by leaning against the desk. Her stomach lurched, partly because she only had a few crackers that morning and partly in remembrance of all the times she had had to patch him up, all those times he had dragged himself on, a smile plastered on his face for the outside world to let them know nothing was wrong. He was doing it again now, that half-smile playing around his lips, the easy banter that every now and then took on a sharp edge, the happy-go-lucky that only a few people knew was only a mask.

"I will," he said, and Jazz knew he was lying through his teeth.

Now everybody suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Sam stood up, Tucker pushed himself away from the desk and Gary moved by Jazz' side and put her arm around her waist. They all looked at detective Sawyer, who looked uncertain. He nodded at them though, and gestured at the door, as if saying, just go before they decide to question you too.

Sam moved next to Danny and he put an arm around her shoulder. The both of them shuffled towards the door, followed by the others. They waved at the detectives in passing, tried to peer into the room where the GIW were doing who knew what to poor Jay Fletcher and simply left without being challenged.

Once outside, they all just stood there for a moment in the strange half-light that signified dawn.

"So," Jazz said, turning to Danny, who seemed to be very comfortable in drawing Sam close to him. "You at least solved this one. Good luck on the rats tonight. You know Gary and I are leaving this afternoon, right?"

Danny nodded. "Sure," he said, "I'll take you to the airport."

"Not if you don't go to sleep you don't," Jazz said, "I'm serious, Danny. Tonight was... even you need time to recuperate."

Danny sighed. "Yeah," he said, "Stupid rats... and still, I can't shake the feeling there's more to it. It's like... they're doing it on purpose. They're playing me."

Jazz felt Gary nod. He was still holding her, as if she was something precious that needed protection, and although she, like Sam, objected to that notion, it still felt nice.

"As if somebody is playing a flute to draw them out," he said, "Like the Pied Piper."

Danny froze and stared at him. "What?" he said.

"You know," Gary said, "The legend... fairy tale... whatever?"

"Yeah I know the story," Danny said, eyes far away. He closed them for a moment and seemed to sway. "Pied Piper..."

Everybody was staring at him, but he seemed oblivious. Jazz could almost see his mind working, drawing conclusions, processing Gary's remark. There had to be some sort of connection he was making, but Jazz had no idea what it could be. But if there was one thing Danny was good at, it was solving ghostly riddles. He had obviously found something.

Suddenly, Danny seemed to land back on earth, because he blinked, looked down at the flurry of black hair he was practically leaning his head on and smiled tiredly.

"Right," he said. "Sleep." He turned to Sam, "I think your apartment is closer." He looked at Gary. "Thank you," he said.

He turned around and let Sam lead him away.

"You know, if I didn't know any better...," Gary muttered, staring after them.

"Hush," Jazz said, "I know. Let's get some breakfast." She turned to Tucker, who was gaping at his friends walking away. "You coming?"

Tucker seemed to shake himself. He shook his head. "Nah," he said, "I'd better go get some decent clothes on. Gotta go to work."


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry about the wait. One more chapter after this one.

**

* * *

Chapter 11**

* * *

Sawyer watched the big GIW leave. Four of them, bulky, white clad men with dark sunglasses. Somehow, they all seemed the same, like clones, even though one of them had short cropped red hair, one of them was bald and two of them were black. It had to be the way they walked and talked. Sawyer just couldn't keep them apart.

When the door closed behind them, he turned around to the boy and his uncle, a man who had hurriedly introduced himself as Mike Fletcher earlier, standing in the doorway to the interrogation room – interview room, Sawyer corrected himself – looking a little uncertain. They were looking around the room, seemingly looking for something.

Or somebody.

"They left," Sawyer provided, "About fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh." The boy seemed to deflate. He looked at the floor and kept his gaze there, even when his uncle gently grabbed his arm and started steering him towards the exit. But after two paces, Jay Fletcher stopped, turned around and lifted his head, looking Sawyer right in the eye.

"He wasn't a bad man, you know," he said, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself rather than Sawyer, "I know he... my mom... he never laid a finger on me though."

"Jon was trash," his uncle said, frowning, "Even though he was my brother, the way he treated Marilyn... your mother... and now you. How can you defend him like that?"

Jay shrugged and looked at the floor again, muttering something. Sawyer thought he said 'he was my father', but he couldn't be sure. His uncle seemed to get it though, but his frown deepened.

"You're not bad off now, Jay," he said, "I've been good to you. Took you in. We get along, right?"

"Right," Jay muttered.

Mike Fletcher looked at his nephew uncertainly, and then at Sawyer, as if asking for advice. Sawyer shrugged. He had no children, and his only experience with teenagers came from when he had to arrest them. In his experience, they were rude, loud and thought the world revolved around them. But he supposed his experience with juvenile delinquents marred his view somewhat.

"Go home," he said, "Get some rest. You've earned it. I think no charges will be pressed, but with the GIW, you never know."

Jay nodded, but seemed determined to continue examining the floor. His uncle sighed, unceremoniously turned the boy around and steered him toward the exit again. Sawyer tiredly watched them leave, and then looked at the computer on his desk. He had to go and make sense of it all now, and try and explain how he hadn't contacted the GIW because the ghost detectors hadn't gone off...

He froze. The ghost detectors... how had the ghost managed to evade those? He looked at the door where uncle and nephew had just vanished. Doubt started to creep up. They had all gone with the boy's story, with Fenton's story on the overshadowing, but what had really happened?

Suddenly convinced their case was weak, he started fishing around in his pockets until he found his cell phone – an old model, but at least trying to call somebody didn't require him to find his way through a multitude of flashy menus – and quickly dialed a now familiar number. It took the man only a few seconds to answer.

"Detective? You had a question?"

Sawyer grimaced. "Yes, Mr Fenton, it came to my attention that we haven't established how the ghost was able to evade the ghost detectors at the stores. If we can't explain that..."

Laughter on the other end of the line. "Ah yes, I forgot. And clearly the GIW forgot also. It's really easy, but not many people know this... in fact, I'd say only five people alive currently know this." No doubt he was referring to himself, his two partners and... who else?

"Ghost alarm systems don't detect people who are overshadowed."

Sawyer blinked. Slowly, he let his brain process this little piece of information. If a ghost wanted to escape detection, he had to possess somebody? He shivered.

"How do you know that?" he asked, "Do the GIW know that?"

"I'm pretty sure the GIW don't know that," Fenton said, ignoring the first question.

Sawyer sat down behind his desk and flipped the switch on his computer. The thing whirred to life. Morosely, he stared at the screen.

"You're going to have to testify if it ever comes to an indictment," he said, "And then Jay has to hope the jury will believe you. Unless you have proof?"

"Ehm... no. No proof," Fenton said, "But I'm sure the GIW will be happy to try it out. They have the ghost, after all."

Sawyer tried to picture that, the GIW letting the ghost out to overshadow some poor sod... and then trying their equipment on him...

"They would do that?" he asked.

Fenton laughed again, but now Sawyer had the impression he sounded bitter. "Oh, yes they would."

* * *

"Oh, yes they would," Danny said.

Sam, leaning against the door frame to her small kitchen, watched her friend pace her living room, listening to detective Sawyer on the phone. She frowned. She didn't like the conversation one bit. If they really charged Jay Fletcher, if they really called Danny to testify, things could get ugly. The GIW didn't like him one bit, and she was sure they'd do anything within their power to have Danny disqualified. She needed to take action, protect her friend, even from himself.

"I just wouldn't mention it," Danny said, obviously in a response to something the detective had said, "...OK, yes, that sounds better, just slip it in like it's a well known fact..."

Sam, listening to Danny, had no trouble at all reconstructing the conversation, even though she could hear only Danny's side of it. Sawyer clearly had remembered the strange behavior of the ghost detectors, and they were now discussing how to keep the GIW out of it. Lying by omission. She was surprised the detective was willing to go along with that, until she remembered that he needed to cover his ass too.

"...Alright..."

She looked up at Danny's voice. He had let himself drop on her couch, leaning backwards with one hand holding the phone against his ear and his other arm over his eyes, trying to block out the light from his tired eyes.

"...Yes..."

Sam sighed, looked at her watch and then retreated into the kitchen. She retrieved her phone from one of her many pockets, quickly scrolled through her contact list and then dialed Geoffrey. She had just finished leaving her message, when she heard a rustle behind her. She turned.

"Calling your boyfriend?" Danny asked, leaning against the door frame.

"He's not..." She suppressed her anger. "Yes. I asked him to find Jay a good lawyer. The best he can get, actually."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "OK," he said, "And you're doing this because..."

"Because you don't seem to realize just how harmful Jay being charged can be for you," she answered, placing her phone on the counter, "If this goes to court, you'll have to testify. The GIW will do anything in their power to get to you. Better Jay just never gets charged with anything."

"Hm," Danny said, looking disinterested, "I don't think so. We gave them the ghost, they're happy, we're happy. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Sam wanted to stamp her feet. "The worst that could happen? The _worst_ that could happen? I don't even want to think about that!" she almost shouted, "What if they capture you!"

Danny shrugged. "They won't," he said, "Besides, I have a safety net."

That stopped her. Mouth still open, the rant she was about to start got stuck in her throat. "What?" she managed to get out, "What do you mean?"

"Easy," he said, "They catch me, I tell them about Vlad. So believe me, they won't catch me. Vlad won't allow it."

"Vlad doesn't have power over the GIW?" she said, "Does he?"

"Sure he does. He has power over everything. He can influence politicians, and they can cut their funding if they get too close. The only thing I need to do is stay out of their way."

Sam stared into his sunken in eyes. They were glittering with a malicious glint, and she wasn't sure if he was being serious or if he was mocking her. He definitely looked more ghostly right now, but maybe that could be contributed to the dark circles around his eyes. He looked like death. She swallowed.

"So you're letting Vlad protect you?" she asked.

Danny shook his head. "No. I'm counting on the fact Vlad will protect himself."

They were silent for a while. Sam tried to find a flaw in his reasoning, knowing there was one, but suddenly she just felt tired. She shook her head.

"Alright. If you say so."

"I say so," Danny said.

They grinned at each other.

"I still hate you for what you did in that alley," Sam said, "You could have been caught there, you know. I'm surprised Jay didn't notice that bullet going straight through you."

"He had other things on his mind," Danny said, "Besides, it was dark. All he saw was a dark shape. No way of telling that he could have walked right through me. The only hard part was not sinking through the ground."

Sam snickered, thinking about how much trouble her friend had had when he first had his powers. Then she inevitably remembered just how he got his powers, and all mirth flowed out of her and she became serious again. Danny, obviously having guessed the direction of her thoughts, stepped closer and gave her a quick hug.

"I never blamed you," he said, "You shouldn't either."

And that was that. She knew she had to let it go, and most of the time she was fine, but every now and then she couldn't help wondering what their lives would have been like if she hadn't talked him into going inside the portal that fateful day.

"Get some rest," she told him, "Or Jazz will kill you. And me, for not forcing you to bed."

Danny's grin widened. "And just how would you do that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam picked up the box of tissues on the counter and threw it at him. Danny didn't duck, but went intangible, just like she had expected him to. Or at least, he tried. His form flickered for a moment, and then became tangible again. The box hit him on the head. Danny staggered, grabbed the door frame and went down on his knees.

"Danny!"

Sam rushed forward and caught him. He grabbed her arm and leaned against her.

"Alright," he said hoarsely, "You may have a point."

"I always have a point," Sam said, trying to keep the worry from her voice, "You just fried yourself with the Specter Deflector. Will you be alright?"

"Yeah," he grunted, "Took a couple of days the last time."

"There was a last time? What happened? Who...?" she asked.

"Vlad. Who else," Danny said, squinting up at her as if he wasn't quite sure where to look.

Sam sighed, helped him up and dragged him to what they all stilled called the guest room, but everybody knew was Danny's room. Nobody else ever slept there. They stumbled inside, and then fell down on the bed. Danny let out a grunt when Sam's elbow landed in his chest.

"Sorry," she said, pushing herself away from him. He looked up at her, bleary eyed. "Just...," she said, "Just sleep."

* * *

"Excuse me... excuse me... sorry..."

Gary pushed himself through the crowd, fumbling with his tickets while trying to shoulder his bag and dragging a trolley behind him. People were rushing by, or going in the other direction, or generally standing in the way in big groups, making a nuisance of themselves. His friendly words made them look up, not move, and he thought back a little wistfully to the way his future brother-in-law had weaved through the crowd at the airport the day they had picked up Sam.

Stretching himself a little, he tried to look over the heads of the people, trying to spot the correct check in counter in the mesh of check in counters. When he found it, he let his eyes travel over the line, until he reached the end of it. There.

Smiling, bumping into people and muttering apologies, he made his way over, dumped his bag and let go of the suitcase.

"Hi," he said.

Jazz looked up from the magazine she had been reading, seated on her own suitcase. She looked a little wan, he thought, which was why he had offered to change the tickets and have her wait for him.

"Hi," she said, "Did you...?"

He grinned. "Upgraded to business class. Yup."

She smiled palely. "Thanks," she said.

With a frown, Gary noticed her eyes wander away from him, searching the crowd. She looked a little worried, and he knew why. Danny had said he'd be there, see them off, but he hadn't shown up yet, and although Jazz kept insisting that this was normal, that Danny was always late, Gary knew she worried anyway. She looked at her watch.

"Well," she said, "Maybe he's resting..."

Gary grimaced, knowing that if there was one thing her brother was notoriously bad at, it was taking advice. His sister had told him to rest. Hence, he probably wouldn't. He was proved wrong though.

"Hey Jazz."

Gary swirled. A shiver ran up his spine, and he stepped back. Then he realized it was just Danny, looking a little better than he had that morning, accompanied by Sam.

"Danny," Jazz said, smiling, "I see you got some rest."

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his neck, "And almost overslept too. We had to come by car, because..." He glanced at Gary, and suddenly seemed at a loss as what to say. "Um," he said, "Anyway, by car, and traffic got in the way, you know, like... like traffic."

Gary blinked at the sudden incoherence of the story. Where before, his future brother-in-law would have simply glared at him and cut off his sentence whenever he was hiding something, he now looked flustered.

Danny looked at him worriedly, and then grinned. "Thanks for solving my rat problem," he said.

In the noise of the room, Gary thought he misunderstood. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, "I thought you said 'rat problem'?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said. Anyway, I, I mean, we, we came to say goodbye."

He turned to his sister, who had risen from the suitcase she had been sitting on. She took a step and hugged him.

"Bye, Danny," she said, "Take care of yourself." She pushed him back a little and looked up at him. "Will you be alright?"

Danny grinned again, but now Gary noticed the strain on his face, the tense way he held himself.

"M'fine," he said. He looked at her searchingly. "How are you holding up?"

Jazz tilted her head and smirked. "I'm fine," she said, mimicking her brother. She turned to Sam. "What did he mean by 'solving the rat problem'?" she asked, "Did you catch them all last night?"

Sam shook her head. "Nope," she said. "And I have no idea. He's being secretive again."

Danny just grinned and shrugged. Jazz let go of him and picked up her suitcase, ignoring Gary's 'let me carry that for you' with a frown which he knew meant 'Lay off, I'm pregnant, not sick'. Not wanting to start that argument again, he stepped back and picked up his own things.

"Let's go check in," Jazz said. She looked at Danny and Sam. "Take care little bro," she said, "You keep an eye on him, Sam?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right," she said, "As if."

Jazz sighed. "Well, don't tell me if it's one of your half-cooked dangerous plans again," she said, "Just don't get yourself killed, alright?"

Danny looked wounded. "Hey. My plans work."

"Yes, they do," Jazz said, "Most of the time. But somehow they always revolve around you putting yourself in the middle of something dangerous."

Danny was silent. Sam shrugged, looking pensive. Gary stared at the three of them, suddenly aware of the fact that they were somehow shutting him out again, that they shared something he had no part of. He looked at his brother-in-law to be, trying to find the connection, trying to see what was bugging him about the man, what didn't add up.

Had he lied about his strange ability to sense ghosts?

Somehow, Gary didn't think so. But, he realized with a shock, it hadn't been the whole truth. He remembered the way Sam and Jazz had looked at him, quiet, as if they _didn't know what he was going to tell_. Still, the story made sense, in an otherworldly sort of way he wasn't familiar with. But if it were true, then why didn't he want to tell his parents?

Jazz, Sam and Danny, who had been talking and laughing, suddenly went quiet and turned to him. Gary blinked, and then realized he had said that last sentence out loud.

"Um," Danny said, "Have you _met_ my parents? Do you have any idea what they'd do to me if they found out?"

Gary shook his head, frowning. "Surely...," he said, "It can't be that bad?"

Danny rolled his eyes and shrugged. Gary looked at Jazz, who shook her head. Sam was frowning.

"I mean," Gary continued, now completely at a loss, "Wouldn't they try to... help you or something?"

Danny's eyes darkened. "They'd help me alright," he said.

Jazz interrupted. "Yes, they would," she said, "And I'm pretty sure that one day you'll need to tell them. They don't think badly of you, Danny, whatever you may think."

"They don't trust me," he said.

"Maybe," Jazz said, "But they love you."

"You always said that trust is the basis of love," Danny shot back at her.

"Do you love mom and dad?" Jazz asked.

"Yes," Danny said, "But I don't trust them."

Gary watched the exchange, turning his head from his fiancee to his brother in law and back as if he was watching a tennis match. Jazz was starting to look exasperated, and Sam, standing next to Danny, started tapping her foot.

"Some days I'm happy I'm an only child," she informed Gary. She turned to Danny. "Can we not start this again?" she asked.

Jazz looked at her brother, then put down her suitcase and hugged him. Danny winced.

"Ow," he said, "Careful..."

Jazz let go of him. "I'm sorry," she said. She looked at him critically. "Still sore?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'll be better tonight."

"You'd better be," Sam said, "Or no ghost hunting tonight."

Danny looked at her and frowned. "No mom," he said, sarcasm clear in his voice.

Before things could heat up again, Gary stepped in. "Jazz," he said, "We really need to go now."

The statement effectively ended all conversation. Since everything had already been said, their goodbyes were rather quick and businesslike, and then Gary managed to sneak on of Jazz's bags onto his shoulder before she could protest.

Only when they were finally settling in their seats in the plane, it occurred to him that Danny still hadn't explained just how he intended to catch the ghost rats.

_

* * *

Gah. That scene just wouldn't _end_! It is possibly the weakest ending to a chapter ever._

_Like I said, I'm really sorry about the wait. I do have (sort of) a valid excuse though. I've been redesigning my father's website, it's been taking up a lot of my time since I'm not really a designer. But it needed to be done. Badly :)_


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry... I completely forgot about this story.

This was supposed to be the last chapter, but somehow I couldn't quite finish it properly, and rather than wait until I've sorted it all out, I decided to at least give you this part. So this story will have an epilogue, which is in the process of being written.

On with it. This chapter has the POV you've all been waiting for... :)

**

* * *

Chapter 12**

* * *

He landed in a nearby alley as he usually did, taking a steep dive, slowing down just before hitting the ground and gracefully putting his feet down while transforming, extending his senses to make sure there was nobody watching. The likelihood that somebody was watching was remote, but he knew he could never be too careful. One slip, one bum taking a nap behind a dumpster, one insomniac glancing out of a window at the wrong moment, and he'd be doomed.

Doomed in ways he didn't care to dwell on.

Standing still for a moment, he closed his eyes, and let his ghostly powers surround him for a little while longer. If anybody had any surprise reaction, any fear, any excitement within a radius of say, a hundred yards, he'd know. It was a power he didn't like using much, as it could quickly become overwhelming when there were more than a few people around, but it did come in handy in situations like these.

A human detector.

Swallowing away the thought that this particular trait made him non-human, he slowly withdrew his senses, carefully closing himself off, until nothing remained but a cold and dark alleyway. The stench from the trashcans next to him made him wrinkle his nose in disdain. For a moment, a few dark thoughts about protectors of the town being forced to hide in these places shot through his head, but as usual he discarded them. No sense in dwelling on every discomfort in his life.

With a sigh, he started walking while trying to ignore his protesting muscles. He had been recovering steadily during the day, and in fact his ghost form was almost back to normal – save for some unexpected and sudden power failures he had refrained from telling Sam about, since she undoubtedly would have insisted on driving him instead of letting him do his thing and fly over. He needed his flights, he needed the view on the city and the dizzying height, the feeling of... _watching over his domain._

At least he had admitted that much to himself.

His human form however, took a little longer to recover. Every part of his body hurt, every movement was painful and uncomfortable. Even simple breathing strained his muscles to a point where he seriously considered going ghost for the remainder of the day. Of course that would mean his human counterpart would never heal.

Careful not to bump into any obstacles like dumpsters or random trash laying about, he made his way towards light coming from the street. He knew his way here by now, having used this particular alley for the past five nights to transform, and he knew what he would see when he stepped out of the alley.

An empty street. And the warehouse, on the other side.

Fingering the key in his pocket the owner had given him, he quickly crossed the street and stopped in front of the steel sectional door. Next to it was a smaller, normal door, for everyday use when there weren't goods to be loaded or unloaded from the vans. The key fit to that door. Not that he needed it.

Grimacing, he let go of the key and leaned against the wall between the door and the huge sectional door. He was early, he'd have to wait for his companions for the night. And when they did, and his theory proved right, they'd finally get rid of the ghost rats and he'd get a decent night sleep again.

Headlights alerted him to the approaching car, and he pushed himself away from the wall, squinting to make out the make of the car. He started smiling when he recognized Sam's convertible, top up to keep the cold and the rain out. He couldn't see who was in it but he didn't need to.

The car stopped right in front of him. At the end of the street, another car had appeared. It stopped there and the headlights died. Nobody got out. Police, keeping an eye on his little venture. He shrugged, not really bothered by it, and turned his attention back to the car in front of him. Three people stepped out, two of whom had to almost literally unfold themselves to get out of Sam's sleek but rather small car. They looked at him expectantly, Sam, Tucker and Jay Fletcher.

Danny eyed them critically, and then turned to Tucker. "Did you bring it?" he asked.

Tucker pushed his glasses up on his nose, shrugged and reached into his pocket, to retrieve an old, red beret. "Sure," he said, "Had to look for it, it's been a while since I wore these. Why do you need it?"

Danny stepped closer, took the beret from Tucker's hands and turned to Jay, who was eying him suspiciously.

"Appearances," Danny said, putting the beret on Jay's head. He stepped back and looked at the man and the boy, standing next to each other. "Give him your coat too," he said.

Tucker and Jay looked at each other, but both of them seemed to be willing to go along with the whims of the ghost hunter for now, because they both simultaneously started taking off their coats, Jay a dark colored flight jacket and Tucker an old and battered green coat he kept around especially for ghost hunting, seeing as more often than not he got covered in ectoplasm during their hunts.

"OK," Tucker said, after quickly zipping up his jacket, "Why the charade? Is he supposed to be me? Because, you know, we're kind of... different."

"Yes, he is. You're about he same height. The beret and the coat will throw him off and it's dark inside. Besides, he's a ghost. He'll see what he's expecting to see, which is the three of us, hunting ghosts."

Jay shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. Danny ignored Sam's disapproving frown, which he knew stemmed from his insistence of bringing the boy on their hunt, most specifically his method of persuading him to come by reminding him and his uncle just who was paying for the expensive lawyer that was going to keep the boy from being prosecuted. It had earned him a rather painful punch in the shoulder and a whole afternoon of menacing glares.

Tucker, seemingly having caught on to the angry vibe in the air, cleared his throat. "Um," he said, "OK, so that's the plan then? You guys go in and Jay is going to pretend to be me? And... then? What's the point?"

"Yeah, Danny, why the secrecy?" Sam asked, annoyance clear in her voice, "Why did you have to drag this poor boy with us after what he's been through?"

"Hey," Jay said "I'm not a 'poor boy'."

"I need his eyes," Danny said, completely ignoring Jay, "If this is who I think it is, then Jay is the only one who'll be able to see him."

They were silent for a moment. Sam still looked annoyed, but also interested. Tucker looked resigned, realization dawning that he wouldn't go into the warehouse with them but was to stay in the car. Jay looked uncomfortable and nervous, but was trying to hide it behind a determined look on his face. Danny gestured at the car.

"Where's your stuff?" he asked Sam.

She took the opportunity of him speaking to her to shoot him another dirty look, and then quickly rounded the car to open the trunk and retrieve her familiar bag of ghost hunting goodies, as Tucker always called it affectionately. Moments later had her and Jay wearing the Specter Deflector belts.

"They can't touch you with this," Sam said, "You know that, don't you? It's completely safe."

Danny winced at the words, but kept quiet. It was taking an increasing amount of Tucker's time to keep the things in working order, and the previous night had shown them to be less than reliable. He was confident that he could protect the boy though, even if his Specter Deflector failed. The only drawback was that this would probably reveal his nature.

If the boy didn't already suspect something. He was awfully quiet about the strange happenings. For instance, he was now looking at Danny with a frown on his face. Most specifically, he was staring at Danny's waist, and the lack of Specter Deflector there. Danny, feeling disinclined to explain himself, scowled and turned away, instead grabbing his personal ectoblaster – the one that didn't work. He only needed it as an excuse to be able to fire ectoblasts. He turned towards the door. Behind him, he could hear the soft whine of two ecto blasters charging.

Anticipation rose. Adrenaline in his veins made him alert and more aware of his surroundings, and made him almost forget his aching muscles. Almost.

Fishing the key out of his pocket, he stepped up to the door. Without turning around, he said, "Let's do this," turned the key and opened the door.

* * *

Darkness greeted them, as always. It was as cold inside the warehouse as outside, and their breaths fogged in the still cold air. The light of their flashlights lit up only a small portion of the vast space filled with crates, producing long shadows. The darkness seemed even deeper outside the small area lit by their flashlights, hiding ghosts and monsters and anything one might dream up in a particularly bad nightmare. The added knowledge that the place would soon be overflowing with ghost rats didn't help either.

Standing a little in front of his companions and trying to ignore the stinging of the field the Specter Detectors were emitting, Danny tried to feel any ghostly presence. But except for the slight headache this induced in his recently abused brain, the effort garnered exactly nothing. He relaxed.

"Nobody here. Yet," he said, turning around. The words had hardly left his mouth when he felt his breath turn cold. Something resonated deep within him, a fellow ghostly presence making itself known to the ectoplasm that flowed through his veins.

"Forget I said anything," he muttered, turning again. "Here they come."

For a moment, nothing happened. Everything remained as still and unmoving as before, little dust particles dancing and twirling in the beams of their flashlights, crates stacked high, looking heavy and solid. Then the cold set in, washing over them, causing ice to form on the crates. All of their breaths were visible now, showing their breathing coming in short gasps.

"Jay, don't pay any attention to the rats," Danny said without turning around, "Look up. He'll be watching."

Those last words had hardly left his mouth when suddenly they were everywhere. Out of nowhere, the green rats with the vicious red eyes came at them, coming from in between the crates, over the crates and even through the crates. As soon as he saw them, Danny started blasting them, firing vast ectobeams from his right hand – the hand that was holding the broken ecto gun to hide the fact that he was using his hands. Behind him, he heard Sam do the same, rapidly shooting the rats with a precision that almost surpassed his mother. And he wasn't sure his mother would have had the cool to stay calm enough in a situation like this to do precision shooting at all.

A dismayed scream had him look around, just in time to see Jay swat away a foolish rat that had dared to come too close and had gotten himself fried on the Specter Detector field. He looked at Danny a little panicky, and Danny gestured at him to keep his attention on the things surrounding them, not the rats. Seemingly remembering just why he was here, Jay nodded grimly and started looking around, eyes searching the vast space around them.

Danny watched him briefly, made sure the boy was looking up and quickly squatted, placed his hand on the floor and let out a circular ectoblast traveling along the floor, but going around his companions. The rats' squeaking increased tenfold as they were driven back, burning. The distinct odor of ozone hung around them, a well known by product of burning ectoplasm. It pushed them back a little, but not for long.

"Spot anything?" Danny yelled over the noise the rats were making.

"No, nothing!" Jay yelled back, inadvertently placing his hand on Danny's arm, doing that what the half ghost had been trying to avoid at all cost. Touching him.

A lightning bolt flashed over his arm and Danny yelped in pain, jumping back three feet and landing himself in the middle of the squirming rats. Who did not hesitate to jump him and start digging their tiny but sharp teeth in.

Cold flooded over hims, and it was all he could do _not_ to go ghost. Not with a witness close by, a witness under the suspicion of the GIW. As he fought, a thousand possibilities went through Danny's mind, all involving the GIW put some pressure on the boy and the boy telling them, explaining to them how he had seen the infamous ghost hunter change into the even more infamous Danny Phantom.

"Hah!" he yelled.

The rats were thrown back a bit from his small wail, something he hoped Jay hadn't noticed – like Gary hadn't noticed it when he had used it while fighting the demon ghost at the airport a few days back. It wasn't much – in fact, it was way too little – but it was enough for him to get on his knees and start firing randomly at the rats surrounding them, making it look like he was once again firing the ecto gun in his hand.

"Mr Fenton! I see him!"

Jay's voice, excited, cut through the deafening squeaking sound of the hundreds of rats that were trying to take a bite out of him – some even succeeding. Ignoring them for a moment, Danny swirled around, at the same time kicking at the rats at this feet in an attempt to keep them at bay.

Jay was looking up, his arm already in motion to make to point at the ghost he had spotted.

"Stay down, look away," Danny hissed, making sure he got himself heard over the noise of the rats by using a little of his ghostly wail, "He'll recognize you, or at least see you're not Tucker. I don't want to lose him."

Jay immediately bowed his head, but his eyes kept looking up under the edge of his cap. "He's right there," he said, "He's sitting on the top crate, third on the right. I can see him! Can't you?"

Danny randomly fired a few ectoblasts at the rats surrounding him, while moving closer to his team again. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he had just fried a few rats by blasting them from his left foot, reducing them to bubbling puddles of ectoplasm that would soon regenerate if he didn't do something about it. And he was about to do something about it.

"Exactly where, tell me exactly where," he urged Jay.

"Third crate on the right, right on top," Jay repeated. Danny, vaguely aware of Sam now firing two ecto guns at the same time, chanced a quick glance up. He didn't see anything though.

"Left or right," he asked, "Where exactly is he? I have to know, I only have one shot, Jay."

"Right hand side," the boy said, "He's swaying a little. He's sitting with his chin in his hands and laughing. And... and he has a flute in his hands too... like..."

"Pied piper," Danny said, "Watch this."

Putting both hands on the ecto gun, Danny started firing low powered ectoblasts at the rats around them, randomly because there really was no need to aim. All the while, he was looking at the spot Jay had said the ghost was sitting, observing them.

"Has he moved?" he asked, slowly building up power for the single shot he had.

Jay shook his head.

"Good."

Mentally crossing his fingers, Danny suddenly moved his arms up, aimed the gun at a spot a little above the third crate on the right, and fired the most powerful ectoblast he thought he could pull off without it looking like the blast wasn't coming from the gun at all.

A loud shriek told him he had hit his mark spot on. A satisfied "Yesss!" right next to him confirmed it, and then, suddenly, the ghost became visible as he dropped the fifteen feet to the floor and landed right in front of him.

Bratty face with freckles. Multi-colored clothing, yellow and red, symmetrical, a red pointy hat. The flute clattered beside him. The rats stopped moving and sat back on their haunches, watching them.

"Ow. Crap," Youngblood said.

He made to go invisible but Danny beat him to it. He jumped forward, grabbed the youth by his throat and ignited a small streaming flow of ectoplasm, keeping the small boy solid and visible.

"Game over," Danny said, a satisfied smirk on his face.

With a poof, the rats surrounding them disappeared. An eerie silence fell over the room. Only the soft, high pitched whine of two Specter Detector belts disturbed the silence.

For a moment, Danny considered spanking the boy for his misbehavior, but just in time he remembered Sam was watching and she disapproved beating up helpless creatures, living or otherwise. Not that Youngblood was entirely helpless, as the blood dripping from his arms testified, but he knew appearances counted, and Youngblood _appeared_ helpless.

"Um... Pha..."

Realizing that Youngblood was about to say, Danny squeezed harder, and the boy started to choke. Not really choke, of course, but in that respect ghosts are just like real people. They don't like their necks to be squeezed, and doing so makes them choke.

"Shut up," he said softly.

Youngblood nodded vigorously. Danny eased up his grip some.

"I should give you to Walker," Danny said.

Youngblood started struggling, kicking his small feet, trying to hit Danny. Since Danny had grown, however, and Younblood hadn't, the only thing he hit was air.

"Come on, Ph... Fenton, that ain't fair," Youngblood whined, "I was just playing. It was a game."

"We don't like your games," Danny said, "And if you do insist on playing them, at least stay where you belong. In the Ghost Zone."

"Not Fair!" Youngblood yelled. He punched Danny's arm. "You get to play here too!"

Danny brought his face closer to that of the small boy's face. "Ah," he said, "But I'm special."

* * *

Sam capped the thermos, hooked it to her belt and then proceeded to turn her Specter Deflector off. The red light on it blinked a few times and then died, shutting down with a soft whine. Next to her, Jay followed suit, powering down his belt. The silence now became pronounced, almost oppressive.

She looked at her friend, who was staring at a seemingly particularly interesting spot on the floor, just before her feet. There were green sparkles in his eyes, signifying a somewhat turbulent emotion going on behind the impassive face.

A mask, she thought involuntarily.

Next to her, Jay shifted his feet. She turned to look at him, and found him staring at Danny with a curious expression on his face.

What had he seen?

Squashing the feeling of unease, she stepped forward, thereby drawing attention to herself instead of Danny. Jay started and turned to her.

"Um," he said, "So... we're done, right?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "Yes. Finally."

"And... the rats?"

"Gone," Danny said, "They were only there because of YoungBlood and his game."

Jay looked confused. "But...?"

"Why were you the only one who could see him?" Danny asked, "Easy. YoungBlood can only be seen by children."

"And ghosts," Sam said, eying him curiously, the unspoken question clear in her eyes. If ghosts could see YoungBlood, why couldn't Danny?

"And ghosts," Danny agreed, "Which, apparently, I'm not."

"Of course not." Sam laughed, a little shrilly perhaps but then again it was late and she was tired. "So how old were you when you last saw him?"

Danny shrugged and examined his gun. "About nineteen. Ever since he discovered I couldn't see him any longer he's been playing pranks on me and trying to annoy the hell out of me." He made a show of checking his gun before sticking it into his belt.

Sam yawned. "We can get some sleep now." She checked her guns briefly before putting them into their holsters, one on her thigh, the other under her left shoulder. Then she looked up, to find both man and boy staring at her. "What!"

Danny tore his eyes away, visibly shaking himself, but Jay just kept staring. Sam glared at him until he got the message, turned red and looked away as well. Danny cleared his throat.

"Let's go and see Tucker," he said, "He'll be bored out of his mind."

* * *

_I got myself caught up in a contest by Cordria, so the blame for the long wait lies with her. Of course. _


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

"... and that's all there was to it, really. Just Youngblood playing pranks."

With her feet on the coffee table and leaning back on the couch, Sam stared at the ceiling of her apartment. Daylight streamed in from the two large windows taking up almost two adjacent walls in the corner, and she could see the leafless treetops from the trees in the park. At least the rain had stopped, but the dreary weather outside made her wish she was still in her bed. Nine AM was too early.

The phone pressed against her ear was silent for a moment. Then, a muffled laughter. "And it took you five sleepless nights to figure that out?" Jazz asked, "Danny must be slipping. How could he _not_ know it was Youngblood?"

Sam sighed. "Apparently Youngblood masked his signature using the ghost rats. They were all over the place, Danny couldn't get a proper reading. His words, not mine. He finally got it when Gary mentioned the Pied Piper, and he realized somebody was impersonating him, playing a game. And the only ghost who plays games like that is Youngblood."

Using her left foot to scratch the heel of her right, she idly looked around the apartment. Magazines were everywhere, yesterday's newspaper spread out on part of the couch – the part she wasn't sitting on – and several glasses, cups and an empty soda bottle were on the coffee table, around her feet. Feeling slightly unhappy with herself, she turned her attention back to the person on the other end of the line.

"How are you doing, Jazz?" she asked, "How was your flight yesterday. Did you get home alright?"

Jazz laughed. "It was fine, really. Gary's making a fuss out of everything nowadays. I guess I have to live with not one but two overprotective men in my life now. But we're not talking about me here. How are you, did you get some sleep at last? How's that boy doing, what's his name? I can't believe Danny dragged him along for a ghost hunt."

"Me neither." Sam sighed. "He did help us though. Danny can't see Youngblood, apparently he's 'too human' for that. Again, his words, not mine."

She could almost see Jazz shaking her head. "Maybe it was a good thing," the psychologist mused, "Maybe Jay will recover better now that he has been actively participating in catching a ghost. He is no longer a victim now."

Sam yawned. "Well, whatever," she said, "It's all taken care of, anyway."

"Sure," Jazz said. They both were silent, and Sam was just about to start saying something along the line of how she had a long day ahead of her and had to get going, when Jazz spoke again. "So how's Danny doing?"

Sam yawned again and looked at the door leading to the hallway. "He's asleep."

"Asleep," Jazz said, "As in, at your place?"

"Um," Sam said, feeling her face heat up, "Yeah. He crashed here last night." Then, before Jazz could say anything, "He was injured, not bad, just some bites, they needed taking care of and then it seemed kind of pointless... he's in the guest bedroom."

A sigh. "I wasn't going to say anything, Sam," Jazz said, "You're all adults, I suppose you all know what you're doing. Just... don't let him take you for granted, alright?"

"He wouldn't dare," Sam said. A knock on the door interrupted her specifying just why though. "Listen, Jazz, I have to go, there's someone at the door. Talk to you later, OK?"

She threw the phone on the newspaper, made sure her dressing gown was properly closed, almost tripped over her purse and finally opened the door, to stare right into the face of the person she had least expected. She blinked.

"Uh... hi?" Geoffrey Benedict said, "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

She blinked again, and then remembered her messy appearance. Hair standing out in every direction, dressing gown with a rather prominent coffee stain that she had listlessly tried to get out earlier, barefoot...

"Oh," she said, "No. I mean... I just woke up. Um." She looked up at his smile, taking in his appearance. Blue sweater, jeans, green duffel coat. All made to look casual, but she knew they were expensive.

"I was gonna ask you out for breakfast," Geoffrey said.

"Right," Sam said, momentarily at a loss for words. They stared at each other. Then, suddenly coming to a decision, Sam stepped back. "Come on in."

She turned around and walked to the kitchen, leaving it up to Geoffrey to close the door.

"Coffee?" she asked without turning around. Not waiting for his 'yes, please', she grabbed a mug that looked clean from the counter, poured the black steaming liquid and then sat down at the kitchen table, joining her friend. They sat in silence for a while, both sipping their coffee.

"So," Geoffrey finally said, "Ghost hunting last night, huh."

Sam nodded, glad he was making conversation so she didn't have to think up something to say. It was odd, usually she didn't have to think about conversation topics with him, it all came naturally. Must be the early hour, she decided.

"Catch them all?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. Took a bit of doing, but we caught them."

"Good," he said, staring down at his coffee.

Silence again. Geoffrey let his coffee swirl in his cup, and then looked up. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, his eyes widened and he looked past her, at the door.

Before she turned around she already who he was seeing.

Danny sauntered into the kitchen, made a beeline for the coffee maker and poured himself a steaming mug before turning around and surveying the people sitting at the table. He looked blearily at Geoffrey for a moment, and then smiled.

"Hi Geoff," he said.

Sam stared at him, torn between anger and amusement. He was leaning against the counter, wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top, hair messily hanging in his face and unshaven. His arms were half covered in bandages, and the other half showing damage as well, scratches and bruises. He looked like he had just come from the battlefield. Which, in a way, he had.

Then she realized what it had to look like to Geoffrey and she felt her face heat up.

"Danny crashed her last night after the fight," she said hastily, turning to Geoffrey who was still staring at Danny, "He... I needed to bandage his arms and... he was in the guest bedroom." Realizing she was babbling, she quickly shut her mouth with a click and looked reproachfully at Danny again, who was still smiling angelically as if nothing was wrong.

"Um," Geoffrey said, apparently finally finding his voice, "I think... I'd better go."

He quickly stood up, mumbled something about having things to do and calling her later, and more or less fled the apartment. Sam watched him go, and then turned her attention back to Danny, who was still smiling, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Trying to gain control over her swirling emotions, she suddenly stood up, causing the chair she had been sitting in to fall down with a clatter. Danny started, and the smile vanished from his face.

"You," she said, pointing at him to emphasize her point, "Are in _serious_ trouble."

Ignoring his wounded 'what did _I_ do?' look, she stomped out of the kitchen.

* * *

Sweat was dripping down Jay's face as he hit the punching bag in his room. He had forgone his usual run that morning – not that he had gone out running the previous three mornings either, but he hadn't really been himself then – and had simply started hitting the bag, trying unsuccessfully to channel his frustration into something that wouldn't get him in trouble.

He pictured Larry Higgins' face on the bag and punched him, hard, but the face of his former tormentor at school didn't really inspire much enthusiasm anymore. He had already beaten him once, he could do it again... and again... and again...

Time seemed to come to a standstill as he beat up the mental image of Larry, trying to feel something. Slowly, the image changed, morphed, until it became the face of his father. He stopped and hung against the punching bag for a moment, panting. Then he pushed the thing away and sat down on his bed.

As much as he tried, he couldn't get the happenings of the past few days out of his head. He felt out of control and lost, adrift in a sea of emotions he couldn't make sense of. Confusion being a main part of it. What had happened, what had _really_ happened?

The ghost hunter had caught his father... no, not his father, the ghost that had possessed him for four days. He still felt an odd feeling of loss though, as if his father had died all over again. Knowing what he was, what he had been didn't change that.

And then there were the rats...

He shivered. The rats had been scary, the ghost of the little boy had been scary but the ghost hunter... there was something about him that sent shivers up his spine by just thinking about him. His whole demeanor when he had held the young ghost – how had he managed that, anyway? – the way he had seemed to glow when he had fired that shot, the way he had seemed see-through in the alley, when he had attempted to shoot him, the way he had been shocked by that strange Specter Deflector belt... Something was off.

Jay looked at his punching bag, contemplating whether he would hit it some more or just go and take a shower. He did neither, just remaining where he was.

Mr Fenton was creepy in a distinctly ghostly manner. Ms Manson however... His eyes traveled to the picture stuck against the wall above his desk. He had found it on the internet, an old news article about the ghost attack at the mall. It showed her standing close to the entrance, clad in a black tank top, black cargo pants and combat boots. She had a rather large, strange looking rifle slung over her shoulder. Sunglasses prevented him from seeing her eyes, but he pictured them fierce.

She looked absolutely stunning. He smiled dreamily at the picture, wondering how old she was. Twenty, twenty-two maybe...

"Jay?"

He jumped up, tore the picture from the wall and put it face down on his desk. The door opened, and Roger looked in. Jay felt himself flush.

"Are you ready yet?"

"Um," he said, realizing he had sat on his bed a little longer than he had thought, "No, no, not yet. Just... I'll take a quick shower, and then we'll go, alright?"

* * *

Agent M looked down pensively at the report on the desk before him. It was the only thing on the desk, apart from a shiny white laptop standing to the side. The desk was a shiny white too, as were the walls in the small office in the temporary GIW headquarters in Amity Park.

White signified purity. It signified righteousness, morality, unwavering superiority. To Agent M, it also signified order. And in order to maintain that order, he had just painstakingly gone over the report on the ghost-robberies. Something, he was sure, any other agent would have just skimmed over and then put aside to get to the more interesting part of this case: the ghost they had captured, now securely locked away in special ghost containment chamber in the basement.

To M, everything should fit together in his view on the universe. Everything had its place, everything should be explained, filed, labeled and put in its proper place. Discrepancies should be rooted out, examined and properly chastened, until they saw the error of their ways and discretely disappeared.

M didn't know it, but Danny Phantom would have seen distinct similarities with Walker, the ghost zone's self-appointed prison warden.

M sighed, looked at the pristine white walls for inspiration for a moment, and then looked down at the report again. It all made sense, the story seemed water-tight, and yet, there was something there, between the lines.

Daniel Fenton.

It wasn't obvious, just small things. The detective who had written the report had had contact with him almost from the beginning, yet had failed to inform the GIW that he suspected ghostly activity. Fenton had caught the ghost, and, by the looks of it, had then proceeded to dictate parts of the report.

Overshadowed people do not set off ghost alarms.

It was just a small line at the end of a long paragraph full of technical details. Yet here was a unique piece of information, something that could have only come from the independent ghost hunter. Something that needed to be investigated.

And then there was the matter of the boy who had been the... victim? Willing partner? M couldn't quite decide which it was, but that was not his major concern in this. In fact, he really couldn't care less – although the thought disgusted him – if the boy had willingly participated in the robberies, that was something for the police.

What did interest him was that his lawyer was paid for by a Ms Manson. The same Ms Manson that was one of the partners of Daniel Fenton. Why would she do that?

It was a puzzle, laying before him, and M didn't like it. He didn't have all the pieces, and when a puzzle is missing pieces, it represents chaos.

M sighed again, feeling a headache coming up. Slowly, he picked up the report, looked at it pensively once more and then got up, strode to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room and carefully placed it in the ever growing 'Specter Detectors' folder.

From now on, he was going to keep an eye on them.

_

* * *

Finally! The End! When I started posting this story, I had all but the last two chapters and this epilogue written, which, I thought, would give me plenty of time to finish it while editing posting the already finished chapters. I hadn't taken my tendency to procrastinate into consideration though. Meaning that when I had posted the last finished chapter, I still had to _start_ on the next one. Hence the long waits._

_Like I said before, this sort of was an exercise in switching POV, using third person limited, which, imho, is just as powerful as first person. You can use almost the same wording as you would in first person, but switching POV becomes easier and is a heck of a lot less annoying :)._

_I want to thank everybody who took the time to review and let me know what they're thinking. I think I replied to every single signed review, if I didn't, please let me know:_

_Luiz4200, Cordria, Super-Berry, mountainelements, starbustia, dragondancer123, Narumi, Anemone-the-Bored, Biisaiyowaq, rojeth, Thunderstorm101, itsbeenasecret, AnneriaWings, hawkflyer667, Ally666, ASP AUS._

_(I think that's all of you...)_

_This story is supposed to have (a) sequel(s), but I haven't started any, nor have I decided what it should be about. I'm pretty sure it won't contain any of the OC's I used (and got fond of) in this story though._

_The great thing about long author's notes at the end of a story is that they are so much easier to skip :)_


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